Tonight's Poet Corner: Heir To
Heir To by Belinda Roddie Back in front of a microphone, I pretend I am recording my thoughts into a crystal ball that hovers in front of my bed, the canopy above my head laden with gold and crimson thread. In another room, my mother sleeps, her curls limp against soft, decorate pillows, while her throne, for now, lies bare and without a queen, and here I am, bracing for the inevitable, preparing for the onslaught, hoping that once the tidal wave hits, I can improvise and teach myself how to swim on the fly.