Queen Juana with the Body of her Husband

Here is a moment to understand poetry – no moment for children or even the peasantry whose emotional scales run four or five deep. No, here is a moment – so grand is the scene that the landscape is barren and tears could drown creeks. She alone stands in the way he does not – soon his coffin and body will rot in the ground but for now there is some need to pause. Black ringed sunk eyes do not look for a cause – only think of new meanings and terrible endings – try to cling onto the things they’re forgetting while gnarled flames grow from the ends of the candles. The town’s strongest men bend to grab at the handles and all that is heard is the wind’s nagging whine and the flapping of funeral robes to remind her she does in fact stand on this drained and dull land. The men stand up slowly and march towards the hills and Juana’s mind turns back to paychecks and bills.

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~ by perfectionatrix on May 12, 2011.

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