The naming is no accident.

The evolution from Goddess incarnation,
to virgin,
to Mother,

and back to whore,
to fallen,
only to rise again as the disciple whom he loved.

A wished-for child.
Little princess,
destined to be Mistress of the Sea,
the renowned Star.

And yet so weighed
by the rusted anchor of Bitterness,
the winds of Rebellion,
pulled by the currents in our Sea of Sorrows.

And Queens.

All.
These.
Queens.

Queen of Scots.
Queen by guillotine.
Queen of Heaven and All the Saints.

To arrive at Shepherdess.
A combination of Mary.
And an.
And Anne.

A young woman,
handed all the trappings and trimmings
of a life of luxury;

a ward,
taking blood vows with sapphires
and sneaking swords behind locked doors;

the war in her mind
neither a simple derivative of name
nor a result of station-

No.

She is roots.
She is virgin and queen,
and she is warrior:

borne in English legend by Robin’s love,
she is of the forest,
she is Marian.

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