By – Marina Bonomi

It was so long ago…
I sat, happily

Croaking my song of spring

To an empty sky.

The arrow fell

Stiff, cold, alien iron

Writ from above

Still unknown.
He came, young,

Youngest of three

Looking for his gage,

Looking for his bride.

I went to him

To his slumping shoulders

To his hope-lost eyes

To his honest heart.
The Tsar amused himself

Judging the brides.

What has baking to do

With ruling kingdoms?

But for the youngest’ s eyes

I shed my skin

And showed them what baking is,

What weaving is, what dancing is.
And now, so long a queen

On gilded throne,

Inside how I still long

For the taste of flies.

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