Tiger Steffie Mo, the silent virtuoso. Tiger Steffie Mo, the igniter of a generation of poets not yet born, first displayed symptoms of her chronic ailment at age seven, when, after completing a cycle series about cats and their colors, began a blank page with the words "the black cat..." and then erupted in tears. It heralded the end of her Cat period.
Tiger Steffie Mo, blessed with a gift of words. Tiger Steffie Mo
Tiger Steffie Mo, whose mother committed cancer after a lifetime of cataloguing her own writings called The Prose of Suicide, was a fierce enemy of grief.
Tiger Steffie Mo, who never once referred to herself as a Poet, usually opting for Waitress, was found dead this morning.
Tiger Steffie Mo, Tiger Steffie Mo, Tiger Steffie Mo who broke bottles across the earth, left a trail of glass leading to her frail former frame, merlot dripping from the smiles on her arms. Tiger Steffie Mo, whose first and last words were the same, who had no interest in Jesus and viewed life as evidence the feeling was mutual, Tiger Steffie Mo, died twenty two years after her last known writings, and exactly eighteen months before she could write the poetry that would earn her acclaim, died a waitress with mute hands, lips whispered momma.
