Lady Jane Grey, Ascending
by India Nye Wenner
Upon viewing the painting, The Execution of Lady Jane Grey
“Lady,” “Queen” do not mean a thing
When the crown is seized
And tied is the blindfold--
A swaddle of sentenced sin. This is not
The Nativity; Although Jane is innocent,
Radiating, seventeen years gone to nothing,
She is on the hay to die. A victim
Of the royal system of royal victims. A matrix of power
Where right is wrong and wrong is right,
Where the only way out is by the grace
Of the ax.
It is a tableau vivant, a living picture
Of death. The women around Jane crumble,
The murderer—an executioner, they say—looks
Down, like a good, obedient subject. Which sacrilege
Is worse? Treason or slaughter?
Jane pale like an infant, hair almost as red
As her soon to be spilled blood.
Gleaming vermillion, oozing, choking
The air from the room.
Another teenage girl played, like a marionette,
To the grave. He greets her, no scythe worse
Than her fated, devised life.
If you look, slowly, to the bottom
Right
You can see the polished mahogany of the stage.
We have seen this play many a time before,
And we will see it
Many a time after. I pray
I will be watching from the mezzanine.
“Lady,” “Queen” do not mean a thing
When the crown is seized
And tied is the blindfold--
A swaddle of sentenced sin. This is not
The Nativity; Although Jane is innocent,
Radiating, seventeen years gone to nothing,
She is on the hay to die. A victim
Of the royal system of royal victims. A matrix of power
Where right is wrong and wrong is right,
Where the only way out is by the grace
Of the ax.
It is a tableau vivant, a living picture
Of death. The women around Jane crumble,
The murderer—an executioner, they say—looks
Down, like a good, obedient subject. Which sacrilege
Is worse? Treason or slaughter?
Jane pale like an infant, hair almost as red
As her soon to be spilled blood.
Gleaming vermillion, oozing, choking
The air from the room.
Another teenage girl played, like a marionette,
To the grave. He greets her, no scythe worse
Than her fated, devised life.
If you look, slowly, to the bottom
Right
You can see the polished mahogany of the stage.
We have seen this play many a time before,
And we will see it
Many a time after. I pray
I will be watching from the mezzanine.
India Nye Wenner is a junior in high school at the Brearley School in NYC. She loves all things writing—journalism, poetry, fiction—and writes at the intersection of the human experience and social justice.