They dressed you in
those golden robes,
wound flowers
in your hair.
You didn't want to
marry him,
who said that life was fair?
Your wedding bed,
the alter, bare
stone, rough cut,
there you wait.
He isn't coming,
your suitor.
Another seals your fate.
Iphigenia, girl
of tears, you lie
in silence.
Tarnished gold
robs drenched in blood, yours.
It flows in
rivers, black, they lead
you down to Styx
and beyond, to
meet your man,
your husband,
death,
your father's sordid friend.
