the madrigal, volume ii
by helen jenks
And there, from the wood-bowel sleep of morning,
I emerge, drowsy and nestled in a wallpapered
bosom of blue-patterned loveliness. A soft sleep, sacred in
its quiet, slumbering sanctity, sent to me in robes of
honeysuckle silk aflame with the glory of
the swollen, moon-dappled evening.
Oh, but the dream!
A wild arbor of eldritch beauty, settled
beyond the gloom of the wooded glen ––
there, in a castle-grove of ash and pine,
I sing and drink in the endless dirges of the feast,
a queen, a knight, a maiden, or perhaps even
the king, once and future and beautiful in the gilded, goblet haze.
Pouting, it leaves me, and the day begins in an endless
chatter of breakfast, eagerly awaiting the crooning, robin-call of evening.
Perhaps it is a secret meant only for me ––
a cradle for the shroud of my slumbering body,
ordained in a truth far beyond my years.
even now, is it not real?
before poetry, helen's truest love will forever and always be warm, knitted things. armed with a fondness for jumpers and a talent for knitting teddy bears, helen (when not writing) enjoys hosting tea parties with her stuffed animals and instructing them on dinner party etiquette, all of whom are becoming as polite and well-mannered as can be! her work deals in themes of nostalgia, mythic inspiration, and the potential of the world around her –– for more, you can follow her on twitter at @rosemaryandwool! The Madrigal is the culmination of a life-long love of learning, teaching, and writing –– a dream that lingers there into the sun-depths of the afternoon.