~la Femme Poem by Mike Finley

La femme

The woman was hanged onstage
and the lifting sprained her back
and since the opera things
have been difficult.

At night she is wounded from walking,
I knead out
The knots and tangles
from her spine.

When I massage her I work
from her neck to her soles.
She whimpers like a doe,
if does whimper, I don’t know.

She is the general
directing the attack
indicating with a nod
what happens next, and how.

She is like a wounded lioness
huffing up a hill
And despite the pain
She will make it to the top

We have a deal
And when we say farewell
and she beams at me as now,
on the railway landing

She is the femme
She is my woman
And I am her man forever.