It was she who bewitched me. She with her raven hair
and her homemade tides. Her lying tongue ended me.
I once lived without shame, once awoke to adagios of light
across the morning bed, my husband’s elbows stark
against the sheets, so much beauty it would undo you.
But she was all trance and scent, all roses and wine.
Tell them. Tell them I was not made for this.
Tell them I had no part in it.
That I only ever wanted the entire sky.
Its soft endings, its yielding want.
I watched her as his neck broke.
She was beautiful even then.
Meggie Royer is a writer and photographer from the Midwest who is currently majoring in Psychology at Macalester College. Her poems have previously appeared in Words Dance Magazine, The Harpoon Review, Melancholy Hyperbole, and more. She has won national medals for her poetry and a writing portfolio in the Scholastic Art and Writing Awards, and was the Macalester Honorable Mention recipient of the 2015 Academy of American Poets Student Poetry Prize.