Cassandra

and then I died (murdered I perhaps should

add — by that controlling bitch, treacherous

wife of Agamemnon, who, if he could

would have killed me too): the end. The chorus

did not moan, not once, not one cry uttered.

They had lamented me enough alive.

Now let them tear out their hair for others —

but I doubt they shall find more woe, though five

hundred wretched virgins pass through the hall

of tragedy.

I commence my story

from the start, from princess of Troy, my fall

to accurséd tramp. We are all wary

of that word, "cursed", here in the afterlife —

moping souls, never forgetful, bloodless

and ever regretful. Yet truly in strife

with a god my toils began. A caress —

though it promised much more than a simple,

harmless stroke — from Pheobus Apollo who

descended upon me in the temple

one night. In the form of a snake he flew,

or rather slid, to my ear and whispered

such things I could never recount. Had I

known, then, what his tempting augured

I would have spread my legs, not been so shy.

Alas! Poor frightened priestess that I was!

Alas! Those sick gods who always meddle

with mortals! The vicious lisps, without pause,

numbed my ears with truths until the dreadful

ax cut me down, at last, chopped me into meat.

All because I barred the way to my womb

the divinity, in the passion's heat,

impregnated me with prophecies. Doom

I foresaw for my beloved Troy, and

dear Hector's corpse — I was first to see it,

and the Greeks' trick: to leave behind on land

that ill-boding horse. No one would admit

that I had divined verily, therein

lay the twist of the deity, that no one

should believe me. So my chagrin

I shared only with the god of the sun.

The rest of my life was a tangle of

ruthless men and unheard cries of anguish.

Ajax the lesser raped me first. So rough

was he — his fat member in me, brandished

like a club, strong fingers strangling my hair —

I bled for three days. Then Agamemnon

took me as his concubine. I dared

not tell him of his fate. He walked upon

those tapestries unknowingly. I knew,

of course, and seeing him tread the purple

I went mad with knowing, and to

my fate strode, head bowed like a disciple —