Someone, I once cherished
for a fleeting few moments an eternity ago.
That someone called me Princess.
I know it makes no difference
to tides in oceans polluted with debris.
Or men fighting wars of religion
over who controls the people praying.
Certainly not to starving children
that I too agonize about,
when their faces flash across my flat screen
I wish that I could live without.
Who cares who rules Russia, Chile or Spain?
And no one who remains in 2029 will know me,
or remember or probably even care.
For there are billions of people in China
who will never know my name.
In May of some forgotten year,
For one second the world stood still.
Preserved film in the camera of my mind.
An ordinary man phoned an old hotel in San Anton
then called me Princess…
And my skin has never felt familiar to my soul.
All rights reserved. ©2009 by Sara Fryd