Richard III (1452-85), King of England 1483-85
Anne Neville (1456-85), Queen of England 1483-85
Their son, Edward, Prince of Wales 1473-84
Forget what you’ve heard. Dismiss it all
except that Richard could charm the blue from the sky
and wanted, yes, to be king.
Forget Shakespeare’s gift of limp and hump.
Richard stood right, finely formed. I ached
to touch him. I, no victim, chose him,
even as children together among potent green hills,
miles and miles, the undependable spring sun,
and old stone of Warwick Castle. Even then
I wanted him. Only the State—cold spinster—
had me as Edward’s wife, Henry’s daughter.
But England needed Richard. I needed him—
his voice filling a room gently, his generous touch
the way a child explores a wondrous thing—
a son such insufficient proof of us.
Forget the myth of my murder. We two died a little
with our son: three hearts, then none.
At times Richard believed and at times he fought
and I came to know these as one and the same.
Forget the insults of history, what you’ve heard
about his body. His ambition. My frailty.
I, his cousin, his wife. The woman
he made widow and orphan then queen. I know:
Put you in my woman’s skin and feed you on my woman’s blood
in the empty hallways of my seasons, in my hard, gray rooms,
in my deep blue nights of life and dreaming,
you too, with all your free will,
would give, would take
exactly this much.
Kristine Rae Anderson’s poetry has appeared in Soundings East, Reed, Crab Creek Review, and Copperfield Review, among other publications. An award-winning journalist (first place award in criticism from the Society of Professional Journalists, San Diego Chapter, and award for arts story from the San Diego Press Club) and award-winning poet (Tomales Bay Fellowship, Fishtrap Fellowship, and first place in Southern Indiana Review’s Mary C. Mohr Poetry Contest), she teaches English at Norco College in southern California.