The deaths of Anne Boleyn

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After Ruth Stacey

I heard your bones break from the fire

your red carpet sprayed like magma

the axe wept Tudor-red for you

Oh Ann was it heavy as him

Did it burn like royal cum

Was a rose in bloom?

For France then

A slayed swan

Sails in guts

For love

For him

A lass

Alas

When a head is severed the eyes blink

Did you admire the basket weavers work?

Did you see your life was like blood and willow?

Carefully structured to hold something beyond your weight

Did he kiss a cross after straddling you like a wet devil in fire?

I read somewhere they lit Frankincense when suturing his wounds

For you a pen carved from swan beak so you can kiss a poem to sweet sister

She looked away when your breast thumped stone and slumped to ale fuelled merriment.

 

I heard you prayed with your eyes open

Except when he was inside you

Groaning ghost son names

He burned god for you

Shunned hag queens

Fattened the pigs

Oiled apples

It’s core

You.

 

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