The tambourine is a percussive instrument with a wooden casing, animal-skin drumhead, and a number of small metal zils. Within its circular frame, it contains an ocean of suffering. No one who has ever held a tambourine has known joy. It is known colloquially among its players as “The Pain Hoop.” It is a well-known saying among the mothers of France that it is “better to watch your child die than let her hold a tambourine.” They say it all the time. Not when you’re around, obviously, they don’t say it to tourists. But they do say it.

like the tambourine, we exist only to be struck briefly, then put aside
like the tambourine, we are stretched tight on an endless rack 

balsa wood, goat skin, a bit of tin
yet somehow it is heavier than the world entire

oh, sisters
if you could see me now
burdened with the stewardship of the Grief Hoop
I had rather you saw me dead

I play the drums as my mother taught me
slowly
and with great contempt

look up?
why?
there is nothing to look up for
only this wreath of anguish and pine

my tambourine, my prison
my tambourine, my handcuffs
my tambourine, my grave

remember, girls
you cannot play the tambourine without hitting yourself
life is pain, then life is ended
strike on the third count only

MY LIFE IS BOUND TO THE SORROW-TIRE

I would throw it and me in the sea, if I could 
but it would crash and jingle on the rocks
it will never be silent
not even in death

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