Consider me.
I sit here like Tiberius,
inscrutable and grand.
I will let ‘I dare not’
wait upon ‘I would’
and bear the twangling
of your small guitar
because you are my owl
and foster me with milk.
Why wet my paw?
Just keep me in a bag
and no one knows the truth.
I am familiar with witches
and stand a better chance in hell than you
for I can dance on hot bricks,
leap your height
and land on all fours.
I am the servant of the Living God.
I worship in my way.
Look into these slit green stones
and follow your reflected lights
into the dark.
Michel, Duc de Montaigne, knew.
You don’t play with me.
I play with you.
(Recitata da una studentessa del IP Frisi di Milano)
