To Purge Poem by Amanda Purczynski

I carved out
that fluttering
rabbit heart
long ago.
She cried
for so long
until she became
quiet.
I severed
the paunch
from that man
on the throne,
he begged
for absolution
but that's not
my job.
As for the fool,
who was a Lord,
I removed his tongue.
I have little patience
for those who
seek madness,
behind curtains.
From the Queen,
so clever,
I stole the hands
that once stroked
her Prince's golden
hair and
intertwined with
her once
and forgotten
King.
The Prince himself
I almost left.
A selfish child
one step behind
and two seconds
too slow
to stop
the carnage.
But he had pride,
a little bit
tucked somewhere
in his shoe
like a rock,
rubbing holes
into his skin
with every step.
In the end
they all beg
and plead
for it to stop,
rattle their chains
as their
broken bodies writhe,
pray to false Gods
for forgiveness,
cry for their mothers,
or a savior,
but I am older
than Mercy.