Her eyes are open;
They have been since the first light
crept into the room.
Lying here, in this
Nondescript hotel bed, in
a foreign city
The sheets are cool, light
against her tan skin, a thin
shield against the day
Within their shelter
She is not, for the moment,
Trapped by circumstance.
Nor is she the blade,
Nor the gun, nor the slow drip
Of sweet, vile poisons.
No, she simply is.
Her mind wanders, then, and she
thinks of her father.
Laughing, tossing her
In the air, his princess, his
dark-eyed protege.
Then, later, after
Sneaking cancer came to call,
Heir and replacement
She smiles at that;
“Heir replacement therapy.”
But the grin is tight.
She thinks, too, about
Her love – Mocha eyes, cream skin
Hair like banked embers.
Not hers anymore;
She can’t unsee the look
of undisguised terror
In those deep brown pools,
Can’t adequately explain
Why duty comes first.
She heard from a friend
That she’s with a man these days
Playing it straight (safe)
And now silver tears
Slip free from eyes closed against
Memory, regret.
But the bright dawn is
Becoming stronger, curtains
aglow with rose light
In a few moments
she’ll arise and don once more
Hard eyes and steel heart
Set aside frailty
Once more assassin’s heir
Set to topple kings
Or maybe she’ll keep
Her broken heart, here in the
Freshly broken dawn
And slip away, not
Into shadow and steel but
Realms of light and love.
