Bride to Be (part sixteen)

Pencil drawing of middle-aged early medieval queen

 

 

 

Bride to Be (part sixteen)

 

King and Queen, Alderic and Tamarilde

Eyes in the brisk wind tearing

But jaws in defiance of weak hearts clenched, the two surveying

The grey and brown and yellow-gold, the blue blue sky

the empty land ungiving

He kissed his first son’s head and drew her near

Under his cloak, that smelled of clean, cold air

His day’s angry fling at her father’s borders

Had carried him afar, forced the changing of his horse

for another

And the grumble of this underling, who had served

Alderic’s sire

Had taught him a worthy thing

That he had not earned their love, and was not admired

 

Tamarilde’s father measured the starving

Its hours, its grains and gruels, by so many spies’ tales

Carried to his ears, and some in sympathy

“Imprison him,” her mother said. “Or if he will ride

against a hail of spears, so be it. Women should not love.”

Sanguine, for he believed it too, the Old King measured

Then, had his daughter known

How much this rocky sovereignty, how much this union

She with Alderic, her love

Were the playacting of unschooled children

She might have chose the end that came

Do forewarned hearts know alchemies

To forge themselves in iron

 

 

 

 


Bride to Be

Pencil drawing of middle-aged early medieval queenBride to Be (part one)

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

(2022, Stephanie Foster)

 

 

 

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