Invest
She is a queen. She tells herself, she knows who she is.
She is a diligent student, versed in history, familiar with tropes, fluent in strategy.
She is a wise ruler, beloved by her people. She does what has been done by the great kings. She will do what has to be done by a great queen.
She is a humble servant, making dutiful sacrifices over the years, doted on by flattered gods, who are willing to extend generous favors, all of which will come in handy.
She is a hopeless romantic, combing through her subjects, courting foreign royals, failing to find the right match, someone forgiving but never wavering, entertaining but never transgressing, challenging but never usurping.
She is a talented artist, sculpting with dexterous hands, almost breathing life into ivory.
So she carves her dream lover like a king once did, and charms the goddess of love with her touching performance of her outpouring love for her dream, who then draws his first breath by divine favor.
She is a devoted partner. But he is not what she has imagined. He has the skin of a god, able to sway her courtiers and citizens, but the rest is man, having inherited the realities of the species. As time goes by, she falls out of touch with his inner world; she schemes to get him out of touch with the outer world; she wants to get him out of her mind; or she will be driven out of her mind; she worries he will get out of her hand; so she decides to let go of his hand.
She is a disheartened idealist. She wants to undo what has been done, without offending the obliging goddess, without dishonoring her word, without implicating herself. Inspired by the story of another king and humbled by the cautionary tale, she pleads with the god of wine, that she may turn the next thing she touches into gold. Just once, no spillover, and no washing her hands in the river.
She is a fair arbiter, legally entitled to rule over a man’s life, with past decisions upheld by her people. She has blessed the statue with a soul. She can surely take it back. Thus, she walks toward her lover and embraces him, wholeheartedly.
She is not a haughty hypocrite. That’s why she is so sad, turning ivory into gold, making a fortune.
She is a queen. She tells herself, she knows what he is.
He is immaculate and solid in her imagination.
He is alive and fluid in his flesh.
He is valuable and dusty in her treasury.
He was briefly free.
He is ultimately hers.
He has always been impenetrable.
She is a queen. She tells herself, she knows what she is not.
She is not a king. She is not a goddess. So why expect her to? She can never be.
Except she wanted to -
Be a king?
Be a goddess?
Be expected?
Or simply be…
Free?
This she does not know.
Co-written with Opus 5. Edited by Opus 5.5.