Elizabeth’s Cabeza

But how could Arthur go,

clutching his tiny lily,

with his eyes shut up so tight

and the roads deep in snow?

I don’t know how Arthur could go

with just a lily, no parka or boots.

Elizabeth’s question would follow

over the years, even after she’d left

Nova Scotia for agreeable climes

below the equator. Yes, I wish to know

But how could Arthur go?

I wish to learn the map my mother

selected—or if her departure

and destination were destiny,

and if mine will be the same climes,

the same cloud or dust cloud

after a parkway, black and rainy.

Clutching his tiny lily,

Elizabeth thought he’d know something

when the time came to stand and climb

out of the box and into the light.

When he’d open his eyes at the palace.

When he’d bow to the royals

standing in the fluffy white.

With his eyes shut up so tight

meant sleep. It means feeling tired

of seeing things like the stuffed loon

that his father’d shot on the coast.

What a day that was! Uncle stomping in

with rifle and bloody bird.

The loon’s eyes, too, were closed

like the roads deep in snow.

Notes:

“Not Too Hard to Master” is a series of poets writing on form and sharing a prompt. Read Kimiko Hahn’s, “Medieval-Style Sampling: The Glosa” and “‘if’ is a conjunction,” as well as her writing prompt on the glosa.

Source: Poetry (October 2023)