Her Majesty.

Her crown of gold sits proudly on
Her hair. Soft curls bounce around
Glittering jewels of jade and ruby.
Herald trumpets call her to her
Throne.

She opens her eyes. Her crown
Of broken glass and metal held together
With a shoe string. It sits proudly on
Her hair. Soft curls bounce around
Glittering bits of bottle caps and bike chains.
Mama calls her
Home.

She smiles as she descends the winding staircase.
She stops to carefully admire the paintings of
past kings and queens. She gazes up as the twinkling
Of the chandeliers match the twinkling in her eyes.

She walks carefully down the steps of the abandoned
Home. She rounds the corner and stops to admire the
Murals painted as the ringing of the gun still sounds
Around the neighborhood – kings and queens dethroned. She
Gazes up as the streetlights flicker and match the twinkling in her eyes.

She continues on her way to the throne room. Guards rush past
Her, careful not to step on Her Majesty’s long, flowing gown of
Soft pink and gold that rests gently on her chocolate skin. Eyes wild,
The guards look back as if gazing upon the most beautiful sight
In the world.

She makes her way home. Fiends rush past
Her, careful not to drop the gram of
Coke they paid for with the money from their daughters’ piggy
Banks. Eyes wild, the fiends look back as the police sirens sound
And the blue and red lights dance softly on concrete, which to her,
Was the most beautiful sight
In the world.

Her Majesty pushes open the heavy wooden door of the throne room.
The queen smiles gently at her and beckons her over.  The jesters
Balance fruits upon their heads. Her Majesty takes a seat
On her throne and takes a deep breath. Smells of the
Chef preparing dinner brings a smile to
Her face. This was home.

She opens the door of the old home.
Mama smiles weakly at her, eyes red from sleepless waking.
She guides her little brothers off to their room with cups of
Fruit juice in their hands. She takes Mama’s hand and guides her
To a chair. She steps up to the stove and stirs the pot
Of soup Mama was making, bringing a smile to
Mama’s face. This is home.