my mama invited
Viscount Pettigrew over for tea
he gave me the same polite
consideration he granted
our best china and the clipped
roses arranged just-so in a vase
by which I understood he viewed me
as a pretty thing to collect
an item for others to wash, dust, and pose
I was no less judgmental
as my maternal grandmother
raised me to look to the shades
that writhe in the darkness
of a person’s shadow to know
the true company that someone keeps
now, if the viscount knew how to read
the shadow at my own feet
he’d see my grandmothers and cats and horses
all of whom I had loved and not
completely lost
while in his darkness I recognized
armies of the slain, those not bound
to him by love but by shed blood
and here I’d assumed I’d dislike him
only due to his garish cravat
this was quite a turn
I sipped my tea and nibbled my scones
and spoke of Saturday races and
the relentless ways of rain
the inane topics one discusses
with any potential beau
homicidal maniac or otherwise
when he departed, my mama
who had not inherited her own mother’s sight
asked me what I thought of him
to which I said
he possessed a decent tailor
and a hundred howling ghosts
to which she replied, “he’s a viscount
such things are to be expected”
oh mama
she had become such a creature of court
I tried not to ponder her own
deepening darkness
“expected, perhaps”
I told her
“but not tolerated by one such as myself”
leaving her huffy and indignant
I changed my attire and fled
to the garden and pastures
where I greeted cats and horses
by name, and they greeted me
and the kind specters in my company
as I breathed in the glory
of roses warmed by evening sun
my shadow still and silent
Nebula Award-nominated Beth Cato is the author of A Thousand Recipes for Revenge published by 47North plus two fantasy series from Harper Voyager. She’s a Hanford, California, native now residing in the Driftless Area, usually with one or two cats in close orbit. Follow her at BethCato.com and on Twitter at @BethCato. | ![]() |
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