The Queen of Hearts
The Queen looks down, her tower piercing clouds,
She beckons them to leave the woodland’s shrouds.
She rests her palms on panes of moonlight glass.
Come out, young dead, bare feet upon the grass.
It’s here that they can finally talk of love
in rooms without such doors or roofs above.
Her flower brushes them across the cheek.
She holds their gaze until they cannot speak
and lost in moon light, deafened by her call,
they wonder if they ever should have lived at all.
more by NOELLE CURRIE
photograph by Greg Becker