This is the Kind of Love They Write Stories About


At the inn at the end of the world

Sita kneels at Arthur’s feet,

tangled hair a dark pool against

battle-weathered boots.


He has his own lady, and though

it is true there have been nights

when he’d have preferred not to share her,

Gwen has always done her best

to accommodate her king’s desires;

Lance had understood.


What should Arthur do with this beauty,

who wails of love betrayed,

trust shattered, who begs for justice

and vengeance on her faithless lord?


Arthur buys her another drink,

whispers please, my dear, get up.

He wishes Gwen were here; she’s better

at this sort of thing.  Love is her department;

smiting is his.  The woman weeps

into her beer, cries Ram, Ram, Ram!


Arthur hopes the gods may grant her

an ending that satisfies.  He drinks deep

and ponders the mysterious ways of love,

the pathways of storied desire.




Mary Anne Mohanraj