All Nonfiction
- Bullying
- Books
- Academic
- Author Interviews
- Celebrity interviews
- College Articles
- College Essays
- Educator of the Year
- Heroes
- Interviews
- Memoir
- Personal Experience
- Sports
- Travel & Culture
All Opinions
- Bullying
- Current Events / Politics
- Discrimination
- Drugs / Alcohol / Smoking
- Entertainment / Celebrities
- Environment
- Love / Relationships
- Movies / Music / TV
- Pop Culture / Trends
- School / College
- Social Issues / Civics
- Spirituality / Religion
- Sports / Hobbies
All Hot Topics
- Bullying
- Community Service
- Environment
- Health
- Letters to the Editor
- Pride & Prejudice
- What Matters
- Back
Summer Guide
- Program Links
- Program Reviews
- Back
College Guide
- College Links
- College Reviews
- College Essays
- College Articles
- Back
Winged Worker for the Queen
Princess Zinaida Aleksandrovna Volkonskaya,
I was first drawn in by your voice.
Honey-sweet and cloying
It made me cough
And even the champagne you handed me when I walked into your salon
Couldn’t wash it away.
You may be a lady-in-waiting for Queen Louise
But I am a lady-in-waiting for you.
Fluttering and buzzing in your periphery,
Standing in line behind the man you loved
And the man you married to cover it up.
I long to stand by your side as you sing
Soak up that honey and store it away like a worker bee.
Indeed, underneath the alcohol of your breath
In the crook of your neck
In the the plunging neckline of your dress
I can smell flowers.
You moved more than once and I moved with you,
Sneaking into your house behind
Adam Mickiewicz,
Yevgeny Baratynsky,
Dmitri Venevitnov
Alexander Pushkin.
I watched from the shadows as you played hostess
To men who did not appreciate you as I did.
They may have found and shared their flower fields
But I helped build your hive.
Your life was a buzzing affair.
You displeased Nicholas I when you threw a farewell party
For the wives of Decemberists exiled to Siberia.
We sat with them and toasted with flutes of expensive alcohol
And were treated to the flutes of your expensive voice.
And I sat by your elbow and soaked it up
And the drink in my hand was water compared to how drunk I felt
Off the nectar of your song.
You came under suspicion of being a secret convert to Catholicism
And the pressure made you move again
And as always,
I followed.
You hosted another salon
And again I felt myself again standing in line
Buzzing impatiently,
My aching throat desiring nothing more than
Your honey voice to soothe it.
Your death was quiet,
Far too quiet for the cacophony of revelry you lived.
I sat with you,
Held your hand,
Felt it tremble,
And felt the tremble of your coughs as they battered you
And you told me you wished for a soothing balm for your throat
And might I sing for you?
And devoted worker as I was
I could not laugh at the irony
So I sang
Quietly
And you smiled and told me it was like soaking up sunlight
And I felt something sweet and golden
Drip from my eyes.
Similar Articles
JOIN THE DISCUSSION
This article has 0 comments.
Inspired by the excerpts of "A Pervert's Guide to Russian Princesses" in the novel "This Is the Part Where You Laugh" by Peter Hoffmeister, this is a fictional love poem to a Russian princess.