I was born the king of suppression,
having already been the duke of ingratiation,
the earl of civility
or maybe I was queen that time.
It’s hard to remember them all with much clarity.
There was the episode that led to Iceland of all places,
maybe that wasn’t really Iceland,
all that cold and steam and fish,
the sense of friction far below the feet, beneath the welcoming>
smiles of the subjects.
That is Iceland, isnt’ it?
There was such similarity,
it felt like home,
selflessness and predictions of my tormentors and this
certainty that my seal was in someone else’s pocket.
I listened for the gentle clang against a
Coin or a knife, fearful yes, yet I
Never considered, abdication.