Deep within the fragile chest, beneath the human skin, A prison made of ivory bone holds wildness within. The tamer keeps the silver fox behind this rigid door, Where claws once scraped the marrow, but they do not scrape no more. For she has learned the bitter truth of why she has to hide, Accepting the imprisonment, swallowing her pride. The tamer plays the perfect host, the mask secured in place, And serves the world its pleasantries with an untroubled face. But when the hollow friends arrive to fill the quiet room, The tamer hears the heavy, rhythmic pacing in the gloom. Sometimes the painted mask will slip, a fractured, sudden crack, And both the tamer and the fox must fight to pull it back. For it is not the tamer’s cruelty that turned the heavy key, It is the terrifying dread of what the world would see. If they were known—two souls in one—what would the people say? They’d drag the social taboo out into the harsh of day. So in the dark, the tamer weeps, and holds the creature tight, A shared despair, a heavy grief, to keep them out of sight. They wait for when the world is safe, for when the air is fair, And until then, the tamer guards the fox who slumbers there.
