Knight Poem
by Ana Johnson
Published in Devour & Lit Canada, Summer, 2026, Issue 023, Pages 52, 53
Devour & Lit Canada, Summer, 2026, Issue 023
Knight Poem
by Ana Johnson
The pawn, sprawled on the lawn, feels like
she belongs to another’s game, waiting for the king
to conquer her, so that they may reign his kingdom
together. Does she not see she’s the queen
of her own temple? Does she dare move onto
whichever 64-checkered spot she wishes
without fear of retribution for having overstepped
his rules? Here, only her jewels rule.
Here, she can triumph. More powerful
than the mere tower of his heart.
Here, she can place him behind a glass
as an ethereal piece so that he merely
becomes a spectator, where she decides, has power
over when he will appear, speak, see the whites
of her eyes and the whites of her incisors.
Or is she kidding herself, also being played
in the game of games? Can she hold
onto her winged self, one day castle, another moat?
Is she not the moat and castle as one,
perched over the tower of her own dreams?
Now as queen, is he not simply the projection
from deep inside her myriad manifestations
of all the pawns she has consumed and subsumed?
How will she view his frolics of dusk banish
as simple apparitions? Such virtuous skips
and coils. Oh no, she’ll not be devoid
of splendours in the absence of him.
Rooks, rooks. Her skin carries
no kinsman. Only frigid wrinkles of a bishop
adorning himself in black beads.
Suddenly, her grin tumbles into the meadow.
How can she grapple with her being
and non-being, her life, her check mate,
her mate of hearth and death. A mirage mired
in a chest of mirrors. Will she ever be able
to carry all 32 pieces in her jeans
dress pocket and play at will, in the park,
on Mars, on Saturn
and on the mercurial tip of a pin
Knight chess pieces (Hassan Pasha, Unsplash). I see them as Yin and Yang (parts of ourselves).
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