Member Poem

Two months since the boy Xau
came to the throne,
two months in which Tsung--
captain of the king's guards--
had watched the boy
for the better part of every day,
but something awry, that afternoon
in the innermost courtyard of the palace,
that Tsung could not identify.

Xau's shift from Leaning Horse
off-form, stiff, his stance in Snake
rigid rather than solid,
and before the training session
the boy had been scathingly sarcastic
when the Finance Minister
tried to manipulate him.

The boy unimpressive as a warrior,
yet a natural ruler:
considered but decisive,
impartial, measured.
Except today.
The minister had been shaking by the end,
just as the boy shook now
when Tsung touched his shoulder
to correct his position.

A crane flew into the courtyard,
landed near the boy,
who held motionless in Snake
as the bird stepped delicately
right up to him
and tilted its head
inquiringly.

The boy's face opened, gentled,
and it came to Tsung then
that what he'd seen before was a mask,
measured and deliberate
as a training stance.

The boy crouched down,
laid his fingers on the crane's
feathered softness.
A long stillness,
Tsung aware of something passing
between crane and boy,
something that hurt to watch.

Then the crane flew away.
The boy's face closed.
The boy returned to Snake position,
completed his exercises.

It wasn't until next morning
that Tsung remembered how Prince Keng
used to call the boy Little Crane,
Keng the only one of the older princes
who had paid attention to the boy,
Keng who would have turned twenty-four
the day before.

(First published in "Crowned: The Sign of the Dragon, Book 1," Dark Renaissance Books, 2015)