Rita Lopez Poet Free verse

Checkmate

Acquainted with desuetude- 
it seems my short-lived era 
were all alike. 
Chambered by family, 
bounded by marriage 
there was no getting out 
of these links unscathed.

Perhaps, 
picking the lessor poison 
constitutes some sort of freedom. 
I saw the way he looked at me, 
perceived me, repulsed me- 
There was no mystery
to his gaze. Though he thought he was 
deceiving me- No, no! 

I was just tired 
of living confined 
and starved. 
I had a love for life, 
and I thought life 
had a love for me, 
until I encountered him- 
Is this what fate feels like?

Maybe life did love me 
and gifted me access
to another realm, 
so I did not have to suffer 
by this life any longer. Te Medici 
my mother use to say- 
“You Medici 
have a duty to this family, 
freedom 
does not know our name.”
He was betrothed 
to my eldest sister, 
who’d fallen to illness.
Shortly after, 
I was to take her place
to be promised 
to the Duke of Ferrara-
I still find her 
to be the lucky one.

He was a collector; 
he had a sight for beauty, 
for particular pieces, 
and I,
I was just another piece 
on his board. 

Every move I made 
was carefully observed, curved 
into his own obsessive narrative 
of how he wanted to render me.

I was the act-less villain
in his life, 
and yet 
I am somehow still
the villain to his guilt. 

Even 
In 
Death
I can’t escape 
his loathing 
for me. 

Shadows lurking 
used to accompany me 
when I walked the halls, 
so I started to spend 
more and more time in my room- 
loneliness became 
my closest companion.

I had no way out 
once I was in– 
waiting was like a predator 
stalking its prey. 
The waiting was excruciating,
the act was release.

I wrote this 
to nurture credence
into my existence,
and before my fate 
was sealed by him. 
I wonder now if my death
frees me from my duty? 

The best thing now 
about being a spirit
roaming freely 
in the shadows, 
is seeing the Duke
haunted by his own guilt,
and cursed by his own shame– 
How self-infliction 
checked mate,
his entire 
boardgame.

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