Diadem

When the moon assembles the stars on the blue baldachin
And I am become the perfect center of one
Five-pointed star, the hole in my own crown,
Having seen the crown, Stephanos,
Gold in the blue atmosphere,
I will walk to my coronation
Amid minions of maple and beech
Who bow and bow,
Their young hair spiked in the cool atmosphere,
Gowns aroar like oceans in an ocean's shell.

At what moment will I first look up?
From what will I turn away?

In that rare atmosphere,
I will walk a path like powder underfoot
Through leafy mayapples—those excellent witnesses—
A cardinal ahead, the three queen mothers, my subjects' limber
Backs, lovely hair, a roar that dies down dies down,
And in awful light, I will accept
My scepter. The usual
Fanfare, the pink embellishments. Bells, trumpets.
Then will I be anointed by no one,
And serve him well.

Copyright © 2009 Kathy Fagan All rights reserved
from Lip
The Eastern Washington University Press
Reprinted by Verse Daily® with permission