Not a Metaphor
When I signed the marriage contract,
I paused at the line about
sacrificing the princess to a dragon
after the wedding ceremony
for the prosperity of the kingdom.
It must be a metaphor, I reasoned.
The dragon of poverty
requires a princess to forgo luxuries
in order to house and feed the people.
The dragon of war
requires a princess to comfort those left behind,
not always knowing the fate of her husband.
The dragon of disease
requires a princess to make hard choices,
who to quarantine
who to exile
who to let die
in attempt to save some.
The dragon of corruption
requires a princess to search for truth
among those who called themselves friends.
The dragon of peace
requires a princess to watch vigilantly,
saving her people without acclamation.
My daughter could do it all,
and do it well,
so I agreed.
But the dragon was not a metaphor.
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