Originally posted by kythiaranos at For the Banjo Apocalypse Crinoline Troubadors: And the Queen I Loved
I've been meaning to write this ever since I saw the BACT show at Readercon. This is respectfully dedicated to my favorite troubadors (unless they hate it, in which case I have no idea how the hell it happened, and clearly I was hacked by some, well, HACK or something).
And the Queen I Loved
There's a beat that moves blood-deep
and soul-wide, a pulse trembling
in the breathless silence between songs.
A reign of music, a queendom of note and word
bounded by their enthroned majesties,
the mysteries in which they initiate us.
A tarot-casting of queens, merciless
in beauty, matchless in wisdom.
And the queen I loved: wasp-sharp
words building a paper nest in the ear.
Dark mother, she may doubt
her crown awaits, but we have already
bent the knee before her.
And the queen I loved: wild sprite
spun of thistledown and profanity,
her tales troubling the steady turn of history,
her snake-oil truths a remedy we drink deep.
And the queen I loved: quiet sorrow
plucking ballads from air and bone
and the rust-red dust of other worlds.
A silk ribbon of song around our throats, our hearts.
And the queen I loved: generous merriment,
sovereign of wonder, her every step crossing
a stage only she can see. She will bow
at the finish, but we are the ones humbled.
And the queen I loved: drawing stairs
from her harp strings, a flight to heavens
unexpected, a honey-drenched dream
from which we awake only reluctantly,
if at all.
What palace can match this court, what earthly ruler
can dream of challenging their supremacy?
A few bars of music, a sentence or two,
and an ordinary room transforms.
What luck, to stumble upon a dream
made flesh for a moment, a vision
spun solid beneath our feet.