The last five minutes of Marie Antoinette
Anxiety takes over the veins that
Wrap around my stomach, tying it up
Into a twitched air sack of hollowness.
Are you ready for me, the disarmed queen?
As I wait at the end of the hall way
Afraid to look, picturing secretly-
What is it that I may be greeted with?
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.I would like to translate this poem