“Here are the women with ancient anger in their veins and the cruelty of a goddess in their hearts. You will beg before her, you will scream; but Hera never flinched from the words of a mortal, so why should she? Do not stand in her way. She will burn down your kingdoms, herself with it, if it meant your ruin.” — MEDEA
Worshipped like a god, but your bones
Are never gathered like the bones of Osiris.
Which means, we’re afraid, that your song stays scattered,
That every resonant song heard now is a fragment,
A shard of that whole unbroken song
Never to be heard again by humans.
Are never gathered like the bones of Osiris.
Which means, we’re afraid, that your song stays scattered,
That every resonant song heard now is a fragment,
A shard of that whole unbroken song
Never to be heard again by humans.
“
| — | Carl Dennis, from “Orpheus,” in Poetry (via a-pair-of-ragged-claws) |












