Zywa Girl's dreams put down

With my sisters I imitated
mama and her friends
By paying attention to everything

from eyebrow to footstep
every muscle under his cloak
the menu and our clothes

we let Dad, who is king
do his important job

     For so long I'm living
     without friends, without child
     I'm not smoothing out sheets

     for my Achilles, the sensitive
     hero, his divine body
     On our wedding day

     the priest didn't sprinkle holy
     water on me, he besmirched me

          with glue from the golden vessel -
          a foul mix of blood, wine
          honey, and nobody dared

          to look - under the offering table
          next to the raging fire of the funeral
          pyre he kicked me: keep quiet!

          His knife shone, I saw him pull
          at the doe that took my place

Oh, what woman didn't and doesn't
suffer from beautiful girls' dreams
put down by sneaky plans


from which she has escaped half at the utmost?

Poem 901
Amsterdam, 2016-12-18

After: Iphigeneia
Collection: Bruises 
Keyword: Religion: promise 
Tribute to: Euripides 
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