banished from the castle

 

.
She’s the giggle at a funeral.
………..– from “Take Me to Church,” by Hozier

…

she’s been flung outside again
to think on it, consider her royal
calling, the grace from which she’s
forever falling.

she of dirty feet, and knees.
she of language unbefitting.
she of fidget, never sitting.

she’s caused a ruckus with her words,
her rebel gypsy heart. she’s smudged
the chalice and cracked
her crown, grinned wide
for portraits when only
a subdued frown
will do.

and so, out! out!they shout
and cast her out.

she doesn’t mind.
she’s grown
tired of
slippers, ceilings, houses
made of glass.

………………..her horse is fast.
………………..this field is fine.

 

..
In April, we poem. 

 

 

 

 

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