La femme
The woman was hanged onstage
and the lifting sprained her back
and since the opera things
have been difficult.
At night she is wounded from walking,
I knead out
The knots and tangles
from her spine.
When I massage her I work
from her neck to her soles.
She whimpers like a doe,
if does whimper, I don’t know.
She is the general
directing the attack
indicating with a nod
what happens next, and how.
She is like a wounded lioness
huffing up a hill
And despite the pain
She will make it to the top
We have a deal
And when we say farewell
and she beams at me as now,
on the railway landing
She is the femme
She is my woman
And I am her man forever.
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