For the record, the wildlings
(these wayward rebel-rogue princesses)
are not ladies
They are not sitting about biding
their time until
their princes come
or their fathers give permission
or their fairy godmothers wave the wand.
They’re quite happy here, fond
-kissed freckles and filthy feet.
They’re complete in their own un
-corseted skin. There is no im
-patience for anything but that
slowly setting sun, so that
the moonbathing might begin.
In April, we poem.