Although I have
a fine sensibility
for tradition,
honor and luxury,
I make a choice,
having seen two
queens approaching their
respective one hundredth
birthdays.
One in a palace
with a crown,
surrounded by pomp
and circumstance,
protected and revered
and another
wearing a babushka
in a damp cellar
hiding from the bombs,
illuminated by a candle,
accompanied only by
her daughter who swears,
“You will live to be one
hundred. I swear.”
Two regal women.
One in Buckingham.
The other in Mariupol.
Perhaps they are
the same. Perhaps
they are created
equal in the eyes
of God. First let me
carry a crown into the
basement for one to
wear, then a worn out
scarf for the other
to wear upon
the throne.
♥