The curtains open,
The curtains close,
Click, and a memory is stored.
Before people let go of uncomfortable smiles,
Let their bulky stomachs fall to place
Forced postures go back to normal without grace,
I let my inspecting eyes wander from brother to sister and from sister to mother.
One in a high-collared cream dress,
Elegant in ivory pearls.
Pretentious but – who would have guessed – so mundane and dull.
Pathetic.
One in a suit.
A copper bow tie lighting up a multiple-ironed shirt.
An old-fashioned gentleman, but oh so two-faced.
Pathetic.
One in a challenging cherry skirt,
Moss green eyes, always throwing a provoking wink.
Letting her body represent her brain and the odours of cheat around her, stink.
Pathetic.
Me in a sunflower linen gown.
Tangled hair, chestnut brown,
Honesty and self respect leaving my mouth as soon as it opens.
Pathetic? In their eyes – of course.
As the eldest I’m obligated to take after the household.
A luxurious, marvellous mansion where everyone sipped on smoky Merlots and scotches with twists,
Stiffness, awkwardness, no couple in this house would ever have kissed.
Of course I want it. Of course I need it. I don’t need anyone to insist.
If you didn’t catch the irony,
I’m clarifying
I’m supposed to gratefully take after this palace resemblance, I’m aware
But honestly, I really don’t care
Mary-Elizabeth, I will soon be leaving, you realize.
You know Sir Kin af Reyd doesn’t carry a ring?
My usual me would smile politely and lie about a fling.
But I’m tired now, and for the first time, I demonstrate what everyone already knows.
I slammed the door behind me and took a short breath,
Quiet, hush
Chuckle, what a rush
I’d never been the belle dame sans merci before
Bare feet I walk up the gravelled path, suppressing the pain of every step that I take,
Admire mesmerizing landscapes, the sparse forests and the glistening lake,
Reaching the top of the cliff I now stand and sigh
My sharp eyes outmake every star and twinkle in the sky
I lose focus as I’m interrupted by my brothers hand, resting on my heavy shoulder.
Mary-Elizabeth,
Always so dramatic.
Always so ungrateful.
Always so malplacé.
He continues.
Mary-Elizabeth,
You don’t deserve the house.
You don’t belong to the family.
His third sentence was unspoken
Instead he expressed ‘You shouldn’t be here’
Through a push past my favourite trees, all of them oaken.
Another amiable outro as the belle dame sans merci,
Just before the scene is over
And the curtains close
juliaharryson 