She lay down her head with a chorus
of private mutterings. Twigging fingers
plucking at pillows. Plodding and
shuffling towards shabby sleep.
Subtle servants scratch on the door
and slip off her shoes, ragged with running
through her fabulously fulfilling life.

A Queenly woman skimming stones and tears in penance
for the empty headed meek while umpteen clocks
strike, tick and toll the days.

She questions whether or not to continue the ritual;
a postponement of her salvation. Her hands,
modest as potatoes, poke about crowns and coins.
Well, there’s nothing to be done for it.
Tied up in an intricate network of damning decisions,
she lay down once more to sleep.
Discarding popular wisdom against the norm,
(the concept being flexible)
she flings her dreams to the window
and becomes just another insect, walking on water.

*Dream Forge, Vol. #4; August 1998 *Masquerade Online Showcase, Iss. #3; Sept/Oct//Nov 1998 *Nail’s Lunch Break E-zine; October 1998

© Getty & Fey.