That prince of yours
with his hair souring to silver
his sword gone to rust,
the doormat king, paupered by fear.
It is not a horse he rides
but an ass, not a lordship
he owns, but a home choked with dust,
not love he proffers, but lies
by the dozen, semen-thick and
We can both do better.
Trust me on this.
I want to pretend that I care
but I don’t, and I want to pretend
it matters but it doesn’t, not
with the sky opened like a heart and
the larks in scatter, a murmuration
of possibilities, splendid as the art
of moving forward.
You can be his maiden, if you like.
I’ll be the dragon instead,
The air is so much cleaner up here.
(Editors’ Note: “A Letter From One Woman to Another,” is read by Stephanie Malia Morris on the Uncanny Magazine Podcast 26A.)
© 2019 Cassandra Khaw