Sheherazhade

I am your Sheherazhade

        weaving stories alone all day

                that you may be amused at night.

Collecting baubles for you: Music, toys, jokes and books--

that you might permit me

        one more night

                on the floor of your room.

These are my only hopes:

        to make you laugh

        to make you cry.

And that this may

       cause you to throw away your sword.

But as you shift upon your throne,

I see the flash of silver,

        a blade threatening to impale

        my frail prizes of laughter and tears.

So I will not complain when you don't reward me

        with the cloaks of riches.

I will keep my stories inside me,

        silent,

when you tire of hearing them.

Permit me only this:

    that I may be allowed to weep

    as I suck life from the wounds

    your sword makes me bleed.

                        --January 29, 2002