Megan Jones: Two Poems

Ophelia’s Video Selfie


Act 1


Green girl

in a garden.

A girl, a veil

of green.


Videos in the garden

direct how I’m to be


or not

to be



Act 2


Dear Hamlet,


Eff you.


Act 3


For every forty-two selfies

I edit three:


The bare ankle,

DM’d to thee.


The folded hands:

my father’s inbox.


The smile for Laertes.


Act 4


You uploaded my ankle

to Instagram:

“Get thee to a nunnery.”

And the worst:



Act 5


They say it was love,

turned me half-mad:


For you, I tore out half

my hair

and sang pop ballads.


Act 6


For you, I used a public washroom



I beat sleek outlines of men

with a half-opened umbrella.


Act 7


My father went mad,

raging softly

in the velvet folds

of nightclubs.


Act 8


You tried to halve him, too.


Act 9


The eternal observer, you

see us fall

endlessly and

artistically out of trees,

impale ourselves


on pointed sticks, poison

our lovers’ clean ears.

So measured, considerate,

our tragedies.


Act 10


I am eternally considerate,

tragic, and


Denmark, a prison.

My iPhone, taken

for evidence.


Act 11


Rosencrantz said,

I can replace

it for $200

on Craigslist.


Act 12


I am no longer as eternally bored.


Act 13


This is what I see:


You, the narcissist

poet, the genius,

the enraptured heir.


I, the dead

girl of their dreams.


Great men quote you

in their speeches to the Queen.


Women become me

for Halloween:


“Get us to a nunnery.”

“Get us to a nunnery.”




Hamlet Receives Ophelia’s Video Selfie


Act 1


I didn’t watch

the video she sent.


Act 2


Out of protest I watched

the video she sent


without sound.

Her lips moved


greenly, like

a girl’s.


Act 3


I put pants on and went out.


Act 4


At the club, I checked my pants

with Rosencrantz.

He was working the door.


He said in the VIP

Polonius has some coke.


A thrust, a poke;

we barely spoke.


Act 5


I DM’d her a selfie


of the club, of me,

of the lights


spiraling behind


I was spiraling, too


but she did not see:

to be or not to be,

she deleted my selfie.


Act 6


I did not tip

the cab driver.


Act 7


Out of protest I ceased eating;

I shrank and became gaunt.


Act 8


I ordered

a mushroom pizza.


Act 9


I watched the video

with sound.


It said, Hey, listen—

but I was editing my LinkedIn.


Act 10


I unmade

her mad with love:

I made rapid-fire, pouting selfies.


In her video she was saying,

Hey, listen—


but I was deleting my LinkedIn.


Act 11


Out of protest I proceeded

onto the promontory.

I said, Hey, Protestants,

watch this:


Act 12


Her video basically said, You

Her video basically said, Me

Her video basically should have said,

Down for Whatever?


Act 13


I said, Listen, maid

I am Hamlet, the Dane


and I leapt into her grave,

I climbed inside her grave—


she lay like a fish,

cold and plain—


I said, Listen

I am Hamlet the Dane—


her small, offensive

body, splayed—


In a nutshell I am

a king of infinite space,


a permanent arrangement

of words


and her, a deleted


Megan Jones lives in Vancouver, BC. She is a writer of poetry and short fiction, as well as the Communications Coordinator for ZG Communications, a boutique marketing agency working with authors, publishers and not-for-profits.

Author: D Zomp