Louisa Schnaithmann
Fragments
First memory:
I toddle towards
my mother, drool
hanging off my chin,
hair askew,
a mess of a girl.
She permits me, smile
on her face like plaster.
Second memory:
My father, tall
and solemn,
in our great hall. He carries
a bronze speaking staff
and I peer up at this giant
to decipher him, to perhaps
speak myself.
Third memory:
My sister, Electra, is
born. The smell of new infant
and possibility. I want to hold her,
but Mother does not let me.
A regret, unrealized until later,
when I cling to Orestes in Aulis.
Final memory:
My throat is a blood-necklace.
I choke on its tautness.
My hands scramble to find
someone to hold onto, grasp
only air instead.
Everything unravels after that.
Kindling
No gale. The sails
lie limp for lack
of breeze.
I worry my
hands down
to red raw palms.
My organza skirts
match my poppy
fingers.
If I touch
a man,
will he burn?
Agamemnon
Ebon-haired and
ominous, he opens
his curved
mouth and other
lips shut. His voice
ricochets off bronze
shields on the wall.
Tapestries shiver
in his presence.
He rumbles. I shake
as he barks
about barbarians
who will trash the palace,
ravish Mother, murder me.
Collateral, all of us.