By Natalie Smith
A row of tables in the dining hall,
Empty tables between you and me, your Queen.
Direct eye contact looking forward.
Had we known each other
the gap would grow smaller.
The tables meld together into one.
A long table, holding the second course of a grand feast,
The King staring at me from across the table.
Our glances communicating for us
As the jester makes his performance to the side
awaiting the attention he seeks,
As a noble lady flirts with the gentleman to her right
a provocative spectacle of its own,
As the servants change courses
swapping dishes with quiet efficiency.
But our direct line of sight supersedes those trivialities.
Does the King know his Queen?
Does he know me?
Will he ever know me?
Or will this moment lock itself in the distant dungeons of my mind,
a mere thought lost to memory,
As I sit across the row of empty tables.
Natalie Smith 