The sun in the sky was bright.
The scent of the flowers was sweet.
The feel of the blanket beneath me was smooth and cool, and I could feel the solid ground beneath me.
When I ran my hand along the grass beside me,
a cool dew saturated my fingertips, glistening in the light of the afternoon.
My hair was free,
released from the confining jeweled clips my mother ordered me to wear, and my dress billowed softly in the breeze.
I lay here, reveling in the silence.
There's no one here to tell me what to do.
No one here to tell me what to wear.
What to say.
How to act.
This was my safe place.
Somewhere no one else could reach me.
Where I shared thrilling moments with myself, and only myself.
But the ring on my finger distracts me from these moments, because every time I look at it, I'm reminded of my duties.
A wife. I was to be a wife.
The wife of a lord, and nothing else.
I was to be property.
Owned by not only my husband, but my husbands family, and my husbands town.
The mere thought made me lightheaded and queasy,
so I sat up, sipping rosé from my crystal wine glass as I looked out upon the scenery,
and I would get lost in bliss yet again.
- Brianna Cecille Blades
VOUS LISEZ
In the Afternoon
PoésieCHRONICLES OF CROWN AND CASUALTY BOOK 3- Everyone wished they were like her. The definition of propriety and popularity. She wore wildflowers in her hair... A collection of poems by and about the Lady of Lancaster.
