2 of 30, 2015

To the Woman at the Crosswalk before the Mental Hospital

Your crown was as real as any I've seen,

your subjects somewhere else, as they would be

in this young and rebel nation. You crossed

against the light, heirless, a terrible risk.

Even the mirror doesn't believe a queen

would carry her own bags from the druggist.

Short of a cure, the next best thing lies inside

those high walls: a good place to sit.