Swans of Anastasia

March 11, 2011
Blindfolded, you are taken to a translucent prairie,
Concealed by the ancestors of Anastasia,
The Romanovs, the mournful dynasty
Who now withdraw into the silence?
Ambers in the dust, pigeons in their slender,
Yet filthy feathers which now act
As a makeshift bed in the dark next to the
Amber blurs of light, the ghosts of once
Hearth-bringing wax candles

Asleep on a feather, awaken now
In a grand, luxurious ballroom,
Curtains bloom in lace and splendor,
As they dangle from a mural-covered ceiling
The feather dissolves as you
Now marvel, paralyzed in wonder
At the nourishing melody of Habsburg
Like a vast savanna of olive-oil
And the finest of exotic spices,
The delicate maroon silk,
And the tapestry of crème
That darkens the daybreak
As the horizon glistens as
It unveils a blaze of valiance
And the impulse of tranquility
The elegant gowns flow like
Swans in remote wetlands
So undisturbed, so untouched
That they overcast humanity’s
Need for meltdowns and catastrophes

Now the swans carry you back to the Kremlin
To speak with Anastasia once more
Though you find in your astonishment,
That a Starbucks has taken its place
Then you find Roosevelt working the bistro,
A smile on his face brightens your day
He hands you a drink with too long of a name
You sit down, and gaze at the princess,
As she writes her cell number on your hand
In Stables-bought sharpie marker
Then, she evaporates, and you are alone,
In this world, where nothing makes sense anymore

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