Verse: The Queen in Exile


The Queen in Exile

She waits on her throne
For an audience with cardinals.
She will not speak human
Words,
Nor will they bow to her.

Instead, she will watch
From behind a window,
And wait.

With flicking tongue she
Will anoint her subjects’ hands.
With a swish of her tail, she
Treads the floors of her palace.

She is Gloriana, in a way.
No less a queen than Victoria, or
Elizabeth I and II.
She is the purring version of
Catherine Parr,
And just as faithful as Queen Mary.

She is both lioness—her
Own royal standard—
And pet.

She is the Queen,
Clad in the finest fur.
She issues proclamations
As meows, which
The peasants cannot understand.
It is her own Queen’s English;
Like Latin to a layperson.

She sleeps in sunshine.
She wakes at dusk.
Her kingdom is of the night.

While she battles invading
Wind-up mice, she is protector,
And sovereign.

When She partakes of catnip
It is her teatime.

She is the regnant with a reign
Longer than Queen Jane, yet
Shorter than Elizabeth R.

Now in exile, she waits.
She waits for the day when her
Reign will end.

Onto the shores of Avalon, she’ll
Land, not with a whimper,
But with a purr.
Other queens may come
And go.
Yet none shall equal her age.
There she sits, and waits
On her throne.

28th of November 2016

 Text and Photo Copyright Riley Joyce 2016

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