The Elephants

Please understand me,

for I am mine tonight—

 

The ringmaster says the elephants

are all right,

but as I passed their cage,

all metal and no sun,

I caught a glimpse of their eyes,

and the way they were mashing

bars and tufts and chains,

the way they were biting their own skin

said to me

the elephants are wild tonight.

 

And he was so confident

as he lead them into the ring

with balls, hoops of fire and whips of hide—

I took a seat knowing what it would bring,

and the elephants came running

around the tent as if they were sheep

deep grey and as large as submarines.

Yes, something will go down tonight.

Not me, not me, not me.

 

And one by one he introduced them,

names of Dolly, Sally, Pete—

and I remembered thinking,

right before the screams,

that these elephants were once from Africa—

distant, wild and free,

and who did he think he was addressing,

what was it that he was choosing to see?

Not me, not me, not me.

 

They were beautiful,

and the people screamed.

The woman next to me waved her arms,

falling like brittle leaves—

clearly she did not see,

and as her head hit the floor

I thought,

“Not me.”

 

Dressed in red, crimson channels

that flowed down their flanks,

and their wounds were the shapes of

deserts, lakes and trees

more powerful than the mark

of any hand that had touched

those wild, wild beasts…

 

And their cries reminded me

of my own.

 

But the ringmaster was shouting

foreign, bitter words.

Then the ringmaster was a decoration,

his body a blur

of white ivory and red skin,

and the people were all screaming

as the hoops blazed yellow sun

and the balls burst and collapsed,

and the woman on the floor was yelling,

“My god, my god what is this!”

 

I smiled when I saw her

looked her in the eye,

“It’s the elephants,” I said.

“They are wild tonight.”

And then I sank my teeth

into her flesh,

and as the elephants thrashed,

as the elephants pressed,

I knew

they understood.

 
© Coleen T. Houlihan

Published in The Alewife, 2005