napowrimo day four

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The Princess Loses Her Pea

That woman tied to a chair
cannot see her wings.
She was once her own king
and queen, until the ruler’s ruler
ruled she was no longer a subject
but the still-life. Punishment—
the paint brushes with bristles severed
easels with screws loosened
canvases shorn in jigsaw pieces.
Even the windows mock her,
their black mold forming messages
in a foreign tongue. This kingdom
once a utopia of free kisses, roofs
of mouths wide like caves
open for exploring.
What unusual luck, the blacksmith come
to shoe her horse: the mare dead,
his sharpened awl sliding perfectly inside
the heart of her throbbing knot.

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