Chapter 38: thirty eight
Iphigenia, Vengeful
When my blood spilled down the
temple steps, were you glad?
When my wedding robes dripped scarlet,
did you regret it, or did you smile,
as the beat of my heart soared and
sputtered and then
stopped? As I bled out on your alter stone?
Was it worth it?
When your poets told my mother I died
willingly, did you force yourself into
believing it?
Old man, when they said a deer was sent
to take my place, did you remember
the way I bled out in front of you, or did
you imagine
a doe's eyes and hooves made for
running?
Did you imagine anything at all?
When you won your war, did you think
of me then?
When the streets filled with crimson,
heavy as a monsoon rain, did you
think of my sacrifice, my life, laid down
at your feet? Did your men hold a vigil?
Do you even remember?
Father, I do. Father, I remember
everything.
Father, I remember the way my eyes felt
heavier with each wine-red drop.
I remember the way your armies cheered
as I lay dying,
as the wind lifted the sails of your ships,
and I was forgotten.
Father, I did not die willingly.
Father, the dead do not forget.
Father, I am waiting.
by m.c.p
~a bit of a back story for this poem~
Iphigenia was a Greek princess of Mycenae in Greek mythology.
Her father wanted to fight in the Trojan War, but Artemis blocked his troops out of anger.
Her father told Iphigenia that she was getting married, but sacrificed her so that Artemis would be appeased.
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