Adali offered Father’s stranger more wine.
We all knew he’d accept.
On our way to the woods though,
Someone stepped upon my dress.
“Oh Yseult,”
Conradine cried.
“Stop imagining things”
They didn’t think I was right.
The trees were beautiful every time
We walked the paths by the midnight moon.
The first was silver,
The second gold,
But we all loved diamonds the most.
Again I could feel someone following:
The trees never made a sound.
“Oh Yseult,”
Ediline hushed.
“You really are too old for these games.”
They didn’t think I was right.
I tugged on Galiana’s left glove-
We’d always been close-
Thinking she’d believe me this once.
But the boys in the boats were too tempting for us.
I told Oskar there was something wrong,
The boat was too heavy for him to row.
“Oh Yseult,”
Irmuska gasped.
“You didn’t even eat today!”
They didn’t think I was right.
Within minutes we arrived
At our sanctuary, our dancing hall.
We laced up our shoes
But I watched the boat groan and rock.
“Oh Yseult,”
Katchen teased.
“That’s just the tide pulling it in.”
They didn’t think I was right.
Hours passed as I danced
With my Oskar.
However, the sinking feeling
We’d been caught lingered.
“Oh Yseult,”
Magnild snorted.
“Your delusioning is quite perturbing.”
They didn’t think I was right.
Oskar took me away
To the side of the room.
He knew my shoes had worn straight through.
I watched out the corner of my eye
A golden chalice float away.
“Oh Yseult,”
Otylia reprimanded.
“Your childish ways are far too much!”
They didn’t think I was right.
The brothers rowed me
And my sisters back home.
Kissing us each goodnight,
They returned to their boats
Thinking we’d see them tomorrow.
I heard a creaking sound behind us.
Once again I tried to warn them.
“Oh Yseult,”
Rille rolled her beautiful eyes.
“Please stop being stupid for once.”
They didn’t think I was right.
We returned to our bedroom
Without further commotion.
When we arrived though
Our secret door would not close.
“Oh Yseult,”
Tieran chided.
“I know you’re youngest, but you can’t be that weak.”
They didn’t think I was right.
Father’s stranger was right in his bed
Snoring loud as inhumanly possible.
I knew it couldn’t be real
So I tried to reason with my sister’s again.
“Oh Yseult,”
Viheke yawned.
“Go to sleep now, you’re far too tired.”
They didn’t think I was right.
When the morning arrived
Father threw open our door.
The anger and happiness
Flowed from him moronically.
In his left hand were branches
Silver, gold, and diamond.
In his right
Was Oskar’s chalice.
Behind him was Father’s stranger
Smug and pleased.
He requested Adali’s hand in marriage,
Just as Father promised.
“Oh Yseult,”
My eleven sisters cried in unison.
“We should have listened!”
They didn’t think I was right.

Isolde’s Song
by Michael R. Burch

Through our long years of dreaming to be one
we grew toward an enigmatic light
that gently warmed our tendrils. Was it sun?
We had no eyes to tell; we loved despite
the lack of all sensation—all but one:
we felt the night’s deep chill, the air so bright
at dawn we quivered limply, overcome.

To touch was all we knew, and how to bask.
We knew to touch; we grew to touch; we felt
spring’s urgency, midsummer’s heat, fall’s lash,
wild winter’s ice and thaw and fervent melt.
We felt returning light and could not ask
its meaning, or if something was withheld
more glorious. To touch seemed life’s great task.

At last the petal of me learned: unfold
and you were there, surrounding me. We touched.
The curious golden pollens! Ah, we touched,
and learned to cling and, finally, to hold.

According to legend, Isolde/Iseult/Yseult and Tristram/Tristan were lovers who died, were buried close to each other, then reunited in the form of plants growing out of their graves. A rose emerged from Isolde's grave, a vine or briar from Tristram's, then the two became one. Tristram was the Celtic Orpheus, a minstrel whose songs set women and even nature a-flutter.

Originally published by The Raintown Review and nominated for the Pushcart Prize; since published by Ancient Heart Magazine (England), The Eclectic Muse (Canada), Boston Poetry Magazine, The Orchards, Strange Road, Complete Classics, FreeXpression (Australia), Better Than Starbucks, Fullosia Press, Glass Facets of Poetry, Sonnetto Poesia (Canada), The New Formalist, Trinacria

Keywords/Tags: Tristram, Tristan, Isolde, Iseult, Yseult, Arthurian, legend, myth, romance, Ireland, Cornwall, King Mark, love potion, spell, charm, magic, adultery, harp, minstrel, troubadour, white sails, white hands, betrayal, death, grave, briar, bramble, branches, rose, hazel, honeysuckle, intertwined