The Song of the Fallen Queen
She is a mother and
instinct is mighty;
It drove her in her
offspring’s best interest,
Like the she-bear
with her mountain-side rages.
When one’s child is
threatened one’s brain disengages;
No logic, no calm
analysis.
Pure action, driven
by fear of paralysis.
Doing nothing has
grave consequences
For her and her
bundle of joy.
When her daughter or
her little boy
Needs her she’ll pay
no heed to logic,
Or safety, or the
binding decorum of man-made laws.
For she knows the
high price of the slightest pause:
The life of a child,
Her child.
Not moving, nor
smiling, nor screaming, or crying
But still.
Dreadfully still.
And cold.
But if maternal
instinct fails her
There’s one thought
left to save her:
Punish the
infanticide.
That might still the
screams inside.
The heart-piercing
note of a terrified child
Begging the feminine
sentinel to appear
And say “It’s okay
now, don’t cry, mummy’s here”
And make the hurting
stop
And make them go away
And make everything
alright again.
But it won’t ever be
alright again.
She’ll never hold her
child again.
And that is why she hurt
the men
Who tore out her
still-beating heart.
Foolish in naïveté
She believed them
when they promised sweetly
That they would look
after her child,
That they would stand
in loco parentis,
And stand guard after
her farewell kiss.
But they didn’t.
And now the rage has
faded,
And her battle-lust
is sated,
She stands by a
photograph
Of an eight-year
child old caught mid-laugh
And she knows –
More than anything
she’s known before or since
That despite her just
and cunning revenge
It will never be
alright again.
One hopes you're well,
yrs,
ADWoodward
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