The White Tiger

The teacher said, "Close your eyes,
And visualize
Your heart as a cat.
Then tell me what kind
You see in your mind."
I couldn't do that.

Because the others' cats were
The lioness, sure,
And the shining Persian-
The female jaguar,
The puma, huntress far.
Only mine was a perversion.

Mine was a tiger. Well?
Not that strange, I can tell
You say, nothing to affright
The tender sensibilities,
Nothing to break ease.
But mine was male, and white.

It would cause cardiac arrest
If the cat-heart in my breast
Was declared male.
I can hear the scolding now:
"You're oppressed; you bow.
Female hearts are female."

And it would cause to rise
Eyebrows in unsurprise
If they knew my tiger's hue.
"She wants to be unique,"
They'd say; "she'd seek
Something rare, and male, too!"

But it isn't uniqueness
I wanted, or loveliness.
Far better, I thought,
To remain one
With my sisters in the sun,
Than make them distraught.

But I didn't make a decision;
There came to me a vision
Of my white tiger heart.
His coat was brighthly pure
As childhood's summer;
And he stood alone, apart.

He did not travel with
Children, kin, or kith,
As all the others did.
More for hunting was he made,
To eat in a glade,
And hunt, and lie hid.

So I didn't share at all.
And it took time to call
Me from that vision rare.
I could see his eyes blue
Staring, as if we two
Had secrets we could not share.

Then he turned, and flipped
His tail, and then slipped
Into the jungle to depart.
I was still sharing
At the next sharing,
Staring after my white tiger heart.