I Met Her

THE ALIQUIAN series, Book 2 Trailer

Poem written and narrated by Mary Coe

When I felt the wind turn

before the rising of the sun

I awakened and paced my chamber

wishing I could break into a run

or leap from the window

to tell the sky

"It’s not yet time."

I was beginning to prefer the dark.

I packaged up my anger,

last night,

kept my composure

when the news went sour

at the midnight hour.

I didn’t break my smile,

but I forced myself into silence.

The wild scream that wanted to sound

from my throat

above the ruckus of the party

would’ve leaked through the streets

of the nearby town as a disease,

wreaking havoc on the happy

burning buildings to the ground.

So, I talked myself off the ledge.

I opted to stare instead

at the wall until it moved;

that, or the world was tilting sideways,

upside-down room.

The paintings lost their color

and the music I couldn’t face

went static.

My eyes toyed with

the soft candlelight

until the dizzying buzz

of this dazzling place

became the perfect setting

for an inky mood.

It couldn’t be true.

How to make sense

of a betrayal of this magnitude?

The walls closed in,

so I fled the crowd, snuck away

from the wine and food and political aptitude

to find a place

where I wouldn't be recognized.

For too long, I’d wrestled

with the many costumes of myself

that I’d tried on like fine garments

to please you.

Innocence and kindness

hardly ever worked in your sight,

but I'd never

been one to be conniving,

sinister and blind with power.

Either way, I lose.

I forced the mirrors in the hall

to look away from the tears

beginning to stream down my face,

but I hesitated before one

when the reflection morphed

from glittering jewel of the ball

to an assassin with a gun.

I saw double, and blinked,

splashed water from the fountain

on my skin,

pretended all was fine

when a stranger wandered out

and asked if I was insane

or just had too much to drink.

But it was in the glass and behind it,

that I met her;

my cloaked shadow

and she refused to see herself out.

She is an empress of terror and beauty,

and all that I’d once loathed

about myself, and she was ready

to leave her mark.

I let her persuasiveness

escort me home

in the dark

and the stillness that surrounds her

quieted my restless heart.

Later

I was torn from my sleep,

for you were in my dream.

standing over me

with a twisted smirk.

You refused to give back

what you took.

You delight in watching me

wriggle like a worm on the hook.

It’s true

the news of your deceit won

the battle of the night

But beware, the darkened angel

you awakened.

She prowls the realm

in ruinous times

defending my right.

She paints the town

as a board

in black and white,

hides behind no disguise.

Fearsome and wise,

she employs insight

as her henchman

and tallies the score

in a golden paged book.

It is now first light,

and I look down

on a broken and beautiful labyrinth

of towers and cobblestone roads

run by a crook.

But history will one day speak

of the meek girl who became

a perilous queen,

and from her throne of quiet reticence

she laid down the rook.