On my grandmothers

I live with their pictures, now
I lived with their stories, then.

Recently discovered, 

more photos, still.

But the stories, I've been told,
how then to understand,

them?

This,
Now ...

Was it the baby,
Her and the baby,  yet unborn?
To return,
to their Eternal, home?

Another, her husband now gone,

died coming home, from his mission,
the children then to raise,
On her own.

These are their stories, 

I am told, shared by a Mom,
Her story, then yet,
Unknown.

On Mary and Elizabeth

In death they share chapel,

in this life, they share, a son,

and a possibility,

Their two countries separated,

by their two crowns

Mary sought, in rebellion to preserve a crown,

the crown of the Scots.

Now that crown rests on her son.

the infant child.

Elizabeth too had the crown,

thrust on her too,

the bastard child, of a king,

or was she?

Elizabeth, a child , of her own, 

never now to have,

or husband to share, one with,

Thrust on the child then,

was their crowns

Now sharing in death,

what they shared not in life.

Two countries, a child,

and then, a burial place ...

This poem is about Mary Queen of Scots and Elizabeth I of England.

Mary's Son James VI of Scotland became James I of England.  He  inherited the English Crown.  He had Mary and Elizabeth buried in  sepulchre's in the family chapel in Westminster Abby.

Schrödingers cat,

Here I sit, like Schrödinger's cat,
the possibilies open,
while the box remains closed.

To make a choice, then ...
or to be subjected to,
anothers choice.

Mistakes I have made,
paths I have chosen,
now subject to these,
remain I, this day.