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eyes like so many city nights, golden and dangerous
shooting words like bullets from a sandpaper tongue she is
my mother
she is rage contained and finely milled underneath
her soles on the hot pavement of thailand san francisco stockton oakland san jose
and my ears, as a child, learned to trace
the edges and corners of a roar in english and vietnamese
soft growls that can be picked out before a pounce
little hands learned to reach out and cling to stripes orange and black
learned of old scars to withdraw from in those deceiving moments sleeping in soft fur
learned of the power in her bite through so many wounds only partially healed
learned to fear and fight
people will stare, dear child, they will point and hunt and slash
they come with milky faces and money
lurking in the streets, mistaken for moonlight
stay close
and so we lived and survived
tiger mother and her cub protected by shut the door and bring the knife
by hugs that should not last long and continual motion and respectability
safe amongst the trees, beneath the moon
or safe behind the bars of a california zoo
which one i do not yet know
Alina Sarmiento