GRACE BAUER
Grace Bauer is the author of Retreats & Recognitions, Beholding Eye, and The Women At The Well, as well as several chapbooks of poems, and co-editor of the anthology, Umpteen Ways of Looking At A Possum: Critical & Creative Responses to Everette Maddox. She teaches in the Creative Writing Program at the University of Nebraska-Lincoln.
THE KINGDOM IF I CAN
This is a story mine not mine
note the use of possessive
the word story the implication
what tale entails
Who was it said:
“The king died and then the queen died is a statement;
the king died and then the queen died of grief is a plot?”
Cause and effect or
maybe cause and more cause
just because
Once upon and then and then
and so they lived and so
plotting
the complications the twists
the so-called arc of this drama
And how can one be upon time
this story not mine and mine
I am not the heroine of this story
(note the silent e it makes all the difference)
I am neither pro or an/tagonist
not quite witness not quite victim
still somewhat more than
> minor > character
in this major league disaster
that is happening that is waiting to happen
Is that what it means to be upon
(as in up on as in the latest news –
those breaking stories)
And how did the king die?
Was he fighting a major battle? a losing cause?
The world of this story turns on
a kind of denial a silence
I am breaking into? out of?
Breaking in’s a crime
Breaking out? – it may be
Breaking through?
That’s always seen as triumph
Everyone was turning on
No one was telling
when things took a bad turn
more than the e was silent
me not me
mine not mine
could be my breakthrough
moment role
But I am not a queen
good grief no monarch
I am not doing time
I am not serving this sentence
the story ongoing and unraveling
anticipation and aftermath
adding up two plus, too
Who or what does the telling serve
and what’s so new about breaking
You can mine any story
for details and deletions
the queen’s grief the absence
on which the tale turns –
did it make a ruler of her
and what did she measure
who were her subjects
Too many complications
to keep track of him hiding his tracks
keeping up with his own personal joneses
the fixed focus of need
a constant fix that can’t be
the time he serves the sentences
he says I say we all have our say
the queen’s grief a decree of mourning
the duty of subjects
each the subject of their own
unraveling stories
one’s need to end all but one need
another’s need to tell
what is the objective of the telling
beyond the act of it the upon of time
assuaging of grief revelation of all
the fix that cannot be the craving
so elemental one wants
to call it pure
as in pure gold as in
unadulterated solid
but who knows the cost
of telling not telling
the truth upon which
we stand take a stand?
What if the queen’s grief
was mere sham what if
she was all good riddance
disguised as sorrow my own
questions less about regret
than guilt which is always
its own kingdom
a craving to tell
REALITY CHECK
Try to remember a time
when you did not believe
in something more
or less miraculous:
the azure of dusk, the moons
on the nails on your hands,
the dirt beneath your feet
in which occasionally
sprouted a flower.
On the corner a man
in a brown suit and fedora
looks like he’s waiting
for someone. You consult
the calendar in your purse
to be sure it isn’t you.
Try to remember if it’s time
to go. Or time to arrive?
If the man is your guardian angel.
Or your nemesis? Your muse?
There are many things to believe
in this world. This is not one of them.