After the ball, a prince
and princess undeniably
shacked up.
No pregnancy followed
and a few months
later the two broke,
somewhat bitterly
though that faded and they both
were left feeling a sweet sorrow
called saudade by the Portuguese,
one that is most often felt in the lyrics
of one of their folk songs,
akin to flamenco, called by them
fado –
but I digress, as I so often do
these days.

Yes, prince and princess
went their separate ways,
their tiny countries not unfriendly
bu clearly at a distance from
the world order, almost as if
they were forgotten by the larger
nations around them until such time
as they became a jewel to be plucked
and placed, stolen, in a diadem
by first one and then the other;
there was sorrow and anger following
and both princess and prince perished
in the aftermath; bloody, disheveled
yet unbowed; one could hardly
tell them apart — but once again I digress
from the point I’d like to make:

ah, it’s forgotten —

but somewhere in this sodden fairytale
there lies a moral about faith
and forgiveness
and a sordid little message
about two against the evil world
for a short time until they
fall apart; how their countries
fall apart almost independent
of the failings of individuals;
instead I am left with
my own cold fingers
trying to conjure a new missive
that is also an ancient one
and nothing prepared me
for this —

how mundane
the world became overnight,
how hard it was to get up
and sit here typing, how easy
it’s become to just close my eyes
and forget all this — prince,
princess, war, fusion, struggle,
sadness, music —
saudade, fado —
just close my eyes
against it all, not weeping for it,
never a tear in me
for all the sweet bread
in this world.

“““““““““““““““
onward,
T