The Unusual Coronation: 9/11 Tribute

by A. Mameghani

There down the road she skips,
Chrysanthemum Mary Rose.
A girl of only the grade of four
With bouncing curls of the sun’s rays,
Innocent and sweet, the princess is,
She finds her way home, alone.

Through her eyes, her colorful friends dance, aflutter.
With them she speaks of her day,
Nearing the house she calls her home.
Before entering, she bids her colorful friends adieu,
And cherishes the soft rhythm
Of their floating departure.

Inside, the great grandfather clock tolls,
Still an irritated grumble.
Now, it is three,
And the king and queen are absent.

The princess does not mind.
Her heart lies in freedom,
For it will only last until their return.
With her studies complete,
She takes to the green room,
Where the sun’s warm light remains.

She adds the finishing touches
On another completed piece
As the sun’s light begins to dim
With an ever subtle fall.
Another illustration
To fill her book
With the wonderful colors of her friends.

Inside, the great grandfather clock tolls,
Still an irritated grumble.
Now, it is five,
And the king and queen are absent.
The princess does not mind.
Her heart lies in freedom,
For it will only last until their return.
With her illustration completed,
She takes to her room,
Where her imagination refuses
To be restricted by reality.

She explores the faraway lands
With her friends that dwell in the shelves.
Land after land, she passes through,
Observing the lives of the residents,
Wishing that someday
She will be able to adventure alongside them.

Inside the great grandfather clock tolls,
Still an irritated grumble.
Now, it is nine,
And the king and queen are absent.

The princess grows perturbed.
Never has darkness fallen,
But the house remains near vacancy.
With her adventuring completed,
She takes to the living room,
Dark as can be,
Silent as death.

The monotonous noise
Of television cartoons
Calms the nerves of silence.
All friends have retired for the night.
There she sat, alone,
A phone by her side,
Waiting for a sign.

Inside, the great grandfather clock tolls,
Still an irritated grumble.
Now, it is eleven,
And a new queen has been crowned.