Panther

Jan 1995

Emeshed in my fear, entrapped in this body,
I scramble to rip this flesh from my bones,
to tear the weight of the past from my limbs.
Is it truly my face in that mirror?
I do not recognize her,
she is not I.
I am wild, raging;
a panther, Ishtar, Venus, in disguise.
This woman in the mirror,
shrinking, fearing, hating, debasing
she is not I.
No, only at times is she entwined with me,
yet I know her intimately.
Why do I know her, and not the creature
uncomfortable in this skin?
At times, stalking the world with undulating hips,
tossing my mane in arrogant indifference,
I am frozen in disbelief ~~ 
staring at a mirror that tells lies
and reveals this stranger.
I am making friends with this panther,
yet I know not how to destroy 
the woman in the mirror.
She holds me mesmerized with her un-beauty,
captivates me with her seductive melancholy,
yet I yearn to set fire to her image, her being.
I will exorcize her, cast her out as a demon;
I will see her dead!
In time, I will murder this ungainly, pallid,
fearful being,
and loosen this panther
upon the world.




© 1998, Tara Tambollio