An ode to Mary in a trio of poems
Twinkles long left dull grey eyes
Closed minds, mirrors –
I see them.
I twiddle my thumbs – centuries.
They don’t see me.
A tsunami of anger – envy.
Distance: the space between the sand and the sea.
Crashing down, they leave
Me alone again. Waves pull back
A rush of wind, through burnt orange skies.
As leaves fall, hearts empty.
Behind a mirror, so much I can’t see
A glass ceiling between you and me
I watch, you laugh, still, I can’t see the world.
Only see it as you show me, glimpses of your life
Games of schoolgirls, giggles and fear –
Mary behind a mirror.
Watching the world burn
Stakes lit because of me.
She’s alone, our Mary held captive in a tower long after death
Her heart stuck between heaven and hell
Taunts of school girls holding candles to enlighten the misery in her face
Echo of the long lost queen, reduced to a figment of our collective imagination.
A catalyst of giggles and a humble fear
Mirror mirror on the wall,
Who’s the one to which we all call
The lonely queen.
A sea of blood follows wherever she goes, an appellation that transcends her reign.
That damned mirror an anchor to this world, unable to ascend to the heavenly world above.
A row of stakes lighting up the fiery hair, a crown holds grasp to her roots.
They say you die when the last person says your name,
Let’s let our Mary die in peace.
Mirrors always freaked me out
Eyes lost beneath my own
Does my reflection reflect back at you?
Do you see yourself too?
Perhaps after centuries, you’ve just closed your eyes
The horrors of your life
Blood and tragedies
Is it fun being Queen?
A bejewelled crown pushing you down
into a grave dug early.
I guess you knew no different.
Now, stuck behind a mirror
Answering the taunts of little girls
Sketches of an exaggerated fear.
But how do you feel Mary? After all these years?
I guess no ones ever asked you that
You were queen and did as you had to do,
I mean the murder was hardly necessary, but I guess we can move past that.
Now you exist as a gimmick, a party trick of sorts,
A cruel twist of fate – a perpetual vanity turned inwards.
So Bloody Mary, Queen of Scots, I ask you how you’ve been.
I do hope you’ve been well, but if that’s not the case
I sit behind a mirror, call out to me if you need a friend.