Tiger in waiting

Then, for all I knew, feng shui

might have gone well with noodles.

Our room faced north. I couldn’t

see the door. At night, thick curtains

kept a flickering road at bay. Shut out

The Plough. I was water to your fire.

By day a telegraph pole, close to the house,

shot poison chi across the big sash window.

I moved south — across the landing. Now

on windy nights as I watch the birch tree

toss its glittering fleece, the energy’s

in free flow. In the distant hills perhaps

a dragon sleeps, while open blinds invite

auspicious stars to spell a future where

alone’s not lonely. A thrush calls from the ash.

It is the single birds who sing the most.

[Kathryn Daszkiewicz]

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