Friday, September 05, 2003
copeland morris IPHIGENIA
That is rubbed and tasted. Iphigenia,
Eulogized, blindfolded, made to sleep,
Bound with the sacred deer to the altar;
She dreamed she was burned alive.
Women who perish in childbirth clothe her;
Piecing together another story, a rumor
Surfacing of her rescue, spirited away
Under plumes of smoke, attended at Blauron
With yellow blossoms. Autumn opens them.
Partitions muffle the dry voices,
The rasping sound which they alone make,
All clustered together before the body,
Mezmerized by incense and ashes.
Agamemnon, Clytemnestra, Orestes, Electra.
"Iphigenia"? they whisper, "are you here"?
And those in mourning kiss her talisman
Within the temple laid down for Artemis.
Brave marigold, ruth and compassion, leaf
That is rubbed and tasted.