anne boleyn’s death knell

by Allister Nelson

Some stars were meant

to burn.

And falling (enflamed)

catch a kingdom

Fire.

I have a sixth finger to

feed crows, witch’s mark

dark on my breast.

In the French courts, I cast

a spell over the straits,

that climaxed in Henry’s

bed.

Now I, red dead, behead

the tyrant. Henry chop chops

under my axe.

I am building a kingdom from

the bones of Bonny Old England.

A place where six brides

reign.

Perhaps the historical narrative

was not so kind to slit-throat wives:

Kate Howard pens him a traitor,

Anne of Cleves rages at his blindness.

But I loved Henry in my own way.

Vicious enough to kill him.

We are out in the wildlands of witches,

Henry’s daemonic brides. We rule the comma

that comes between “reign” and “death.”

Curious girl, do not marry a tyrant.

Behead, behead him

instead.

Take your crack-glass blade, bleed the louse

with lusting hands like a stuck pig.

All men are carnage, in the end.

Women pick up the pieces.

Six queens on the chessboard.

Though we are bones beneath soil –

our spirits fly phoenix, free.

Setting the kingdom

aflame.'

I, Greensleeve’d Anne,

Reign.

Know my name!

Know my name.

Click here to read Allister’s bio.