The Chosen One, After

Poetry - by Kathryn Yelinek

Then, I wore a medallion, as proud as any prince.

It hung round my neck like a hug,

a beacon, a bellwether,

a benediction from the gods themselves,

proclaiming that I had won.

Now it lurks in the bottom of my trunk, 

unseen,

harmless as arsenic, 

heavy as an endless list of “shoulds,”

hard as the heart of a king who is never satisfied,

whispering, All right, but what’ve you done since then?