she shuffles forward
through cherry blossom haze
the palace garden
still cool and unhurried
in the rising sun of morning
her shamisen strung 
with red sinew
the instrument of her disruption
greater than any sword
or pen
or tongue
it had even moved the emperor
who now lay still before her with his
retinue
tea vessels hastily dropped
mid-drink
she played for their ghosts
and then for the ghosts of her sons
her song complete, she smiled
this would be the only moment
she ever drank from 
an emperor’s cup

[Max Magenta is an unpublished author with no other accolades or accomplishments.  He lives in the Midwest with his partner and sometimes goes outside.  You can find him @realmaxmagenta on Bluesky.]