The below poem is taken from “Temporal Bones” a collection of poems based on myths from near and far
The Tiger’s AddressBuy “Temporal Bones” by Susan Taylor
I stand, wrapped in the shifting continents of your clouds.
Fuming, I have lifted the taste for thunder from your throat.
Listen to me, matching your almighty voice. Oi!
I need a shawl or blanket to cover the plain raw weft of me –
one I can craft into lines for speed, elegance, ultimate stealth.
It is not, heaven forbid, that I am not warm, but it is
that I gave my first coat to the one who desired it the most.
Anyone could see that, for my cast-off wrap looked grand
as it flowed over her with the suggestion of passion flowers,
though petals, however seductive when they appear,
have reasons to fall… heaven knows.
Give me an amber silk chenille, short in the nap
and carrying within its pattern the awe I intend to instill
as I move through the glades of the jungle.
Oi, you said if I donated my garment to somebody wanting,
someone weak, I could have what suited me best in its place.
I gave it away to that skinny creature, shivery thin as blossom;
furthermore, with unbalanced deportment and lack of, apparently,
everything. Her mate, as badly off, puny and lack lustre. Oi,
diviner-cum-maker, the sacred flames you put in my eyes
are just the stripes for my back. Beat them upon it out of the heatSusan Taylor; Temporal Bones
of my temper. I will bear fabulous children to slink through
your forests and carry about them your fearsome wonders.