The Sun, as if a comfort,
bore onto her neck, warm on her skin.
*
She smiled at us,
tears rolling down her face, as she acquiesced her fate.
*
I imagine that she was like a storm
up there, begging to be forgiven.
The sky opened, ready to receive her head like Communion,
and she stood strong, her neck shining in the light.
*
The executioner ushered her to the block and I swear, the birds stopped singing, as if waiting to indoctrinate her soul with their wings.
She stepped on his foot, Henry’s harlot,
and apologized, looking to him and asking for mercy,
because the king had none to give his own wife.
*
The executioner flinched, the man with the ax,
hesitating, for the first time,
for this would be his only time
touching an immortal in his poor world,
and he nodded and ushered her down,
where we poor people were a breath away from a queen.
*
Birds erupted, undone with the axe swing
and slowly, I watched the storm in Anne’s eyes dissolve,
her excommunicated lips muttering a prayer for relief.
*
Art found on Pinterest
*
The Word Not World Series (WNW) is an interactive anthology where, once a week, I share a photo and peers give me words that inspired them. Their words inspire poetry, like this one. This poem was inspired by “relief,” by @catscratch345 (IG) and “acquiesce,” by @angela_psalm.
Thank you for your inspiration. If you would like to join in on the fun, I post the picture prompt every Saturday on Substack, and my Instagram page @enis.st.sparrow