Monday, February 8, 2010


I anticipate

bright red eyes

in the black

but they don’t come

unless seduced. Cautiously taunted.

I watch them arrive

like servants. And their support

makes me an unfortunate queen

whose own power

is stolen by some reflection

in the nighttime

that can barely be seen.

She wraps herself in a paper crown

then metal, then silver, then gold.

She removes them all

and bows to the sun.

No competition between jewels

and light.

Defeat rings

and this is what it

She will say,

stuck in her tower,

of her own making,

let me down

let me down

and perhaps

we can climb through that thistle and thorn

You a modest king

and myself, simply a maid.

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