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The Spinoff

The Friday Poem: ‘Little King' by Heather Holdaway

A new poem by Heather Holdaway. Little King Austerlitz Looking across the frozen lake I demanded mama's soup from Corsica To be heated Slightly higher heels For my riding boots A fresh quill to sign the inevitable Treaty Tomorrow And my men Oh my men Oh my glorious tomorrow men None of whom need higher heels For their riding boots Tonight to wait Under pine fronds To remember despite our fake limping Our many loud shouts of man, How sad and unfulfilled and poorly we sure were feeling Imminent victory Is imminent Also to remember please To avoid the touching of their winkies To the ice. *** Borodino Have you ever won Technically Followed the Yellow Brick Road that Leads to the Emerald City Only some total rip Has set it on fire And you slowly rub your hands together In its glow Avoiding eye contact With your men next to you Oh your men Oh your men for whom there is no more tomorrow Who you would like to bathe in a bath of warm bubbles Soft flannels for their scarred backs Hot soup for their hollow selves Slowly blackening from their digits inward Despite the heat of Moscow Have you? Nah. Me neither. *** Elba It is an hour after midnight Men have brought me a letter Their faces turn from mine Men, I would like to insist in my socks Men, about Moscow, look About this whole Elba misunderstanding But the letter is about you It is small, damp from the crossing Betrayed with the fingerprints of many men I had once dreamed to be your stockings, your little boots, your gloves To hold you Tall in my love Now, men close the door behind them and ignore my raw weeping Then they open the door again Shuffle in Confiscate my letter opener that Slit open the great white belly of this news For it to pour out Welcome as the guts of fish Then they close the door again softly Still glorious, my men A locked room On an island Has never felt lonely Until now I cannot even click my heeled boots together and ask to go home Because it is late And I am socked And you are gone We die in the midst of marvels And so I live on without you, Josephine. Notes Little King – Elba section references Napoleon I, Emperor of the French 1769-1821, (2022) Letters to Josephine. Musaicum Books. Translated by Hall, Henry Foljambe. 'It is an hour after midnight', and 'We die in the midst of marvels' are direct quotes from Letter No.4, Series A from Letters to Josephine.