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Oct 2015
Confessions of a Poisoner

Sweet spirit, have you come to haunt me as I tell stories of deposed kings?
Come, let us sit upon the ground so I can tell you how I have no interests in the trapping of guns or daggers
No, there's nothing fascinating about deaths wrought from metal.
You see, every knight sees it coming, the sword ****** through him or the arrow between his eyes.
It’s never such a surprise.
And it’s far more satisfying to see the king, my uncle, swallow wine, forced down his throat by me, of course, fall choking and writhing and paying for his crimes.
Oh, you look frightened.
Why, sweet spirit, is that so?
I’ll pretend I don’t know,
There is a certain social stigma surrounding poison, you see.
The coward’s weapon
Only used by servants, jealous wives, pitiful begrieved lovers, to name a few
How embarrassing must it be for the powerful and mighty king to be laid low by his housekeeper.
Yet, it is the only weapon that we, the servants, wives, and lovers have to protect ourselves.

Imagine this:
You’re twelve years old and your master is calling out to you
“Come along, little one,” and he puts a grimy hand on your shoulder and wraps the other one around your tender wrist.
You were supposed  to-what?
Run, hide, and cry for mommy?
No, not I
And twelve years later hemlock but falls into my hands
Twenty four years of age and revenge well wrought
My ironclad wrists were caught
By prison keepers, no
By justice that flowed with my blood
Why should I live in fear?
My silver tipped tongue was clever enough to save me from even a hangman's noose

I know-knew- a man who flogged his sons
Such a sight they were
Dripping in their crimson blood
One night I served his wine
mixed with nightshade, of course
Never mind the other guests
I'm sure they beat their daughters too
The best thing was: they never knew
Justice burned and brightly bloomed

There was a boy who did adore me in my form
But, oh look here, he was such a bore
On and on and on he droned
Fog and mist must fill his bones
Wolfsbane was the only cure
and to see him writhing on the floor
it was the most marvelous of sport
to see his eyes roll and blood mixed with foam at his mouth
I wasn’t bored of him anymore

The King, my uncle
What a monster he is
He let my mother and brother be tried in his court
He thought they were guilty
Maybe they were- I don’t know
But bonds of blood he did burn so
Belladonna in Elderberry wine
There was never such a pretty sight
His lips stained purple with such a sweet drought
I was there with and his cries set music in my veins
I stood there with eyes transfixed
Such a symphony I had wrought from his feeble throat
I wish the world could hear my song
And throw roses at my feet as it sung all night long.

Why do you look pale
And tremble at my voice?
I think you hardly have heard such a thing as grand as mine
You don't speak
How so?
You must admit
I am a liberator and an avenger
And wound for red wound I will right these wrongs
But perhaps you are tired
And are wanting of rest
Such things I always think
So tell me, sweet spirit, would you care for a drink?
written during Regional Orchestra Auditions
maybe I was a bit stressed... who can say
Caitlin Fisher
Written by
Caitlin Fisher
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