Love Song of the Stingray

By Tamara Miles

(borrowing from Alice Walker the phrase Temple of My Familiar)

I dwell in an aquarium, quite comfortable,

cushioned sounds of the temple of my familiar,

cared for, not unhappy.

I go my cycled path around the tank,

have almost forgotten the waters

of my ancestors.

You come to visit, stand at the glass

to admire a mysterious creature,

spend a lunch hour here, study me,

sketch, admire my supple movements,

my curious aspects,

at a safe distance.

I delight in your attention.

I wish you into the water to play,

but it is far too dangerous.

You might meet, in these waters,

the hour of your destruction, a drowning,

a stab through the heart.

Two creatures, then, on each side

of the wall, appointed to live separately,

appointed to meet and meet again,

and never to touch,

but I have need of you and you of me.

I will look for you in the crowd

with your camera-lens eyes, pen

and patient curiosity, a god to one

like me, forbidden.

I pray you go mad and break the glass.