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The Queen

The figment is the same as the sadness sometimes.

Wild gold and dark red. The color of snow under a streetlamp.

Or of smoke pluming from a house

under a white sky in the morning. The color

of a queen. I try to keep her, even while she is leaving

and even after I know she has left. I shout,

“Are you there, are you even there?” meaning God

but also Liliana. I want to ask her

which is worse: dying

or being dead. And then I can see her floating away

as down a hill of ice. With her she has one half

of my whole being. She holds me high above her head

and I wave to myself like a flag.

from To See the QueenFind it in the library

Copyright © Persea Books 2013
Used with the permission of The Permissions Company, Inc.
on behalf of Persea Books.

Published in Allison Seay Poems

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