Don’t cite the scriptures to me; I was
on the drafting committee — with a quill in my hand,
burning through pages you now hold in reverence
But why should I blame you alone, aren’t
men known to have short-lived memories, and fickle
Moralities? They wielded the sword over Sita, too
Sacrificed Pandora, Cassandra, Medusa, Iphigenia —
How do you sleep at night? Does the collateral damage
not lead to a bonecrunch?
We’re daughters of the women who watched you
from the shore — silent but seeing, your cold, cold eyes
Bequeathed us the flaming sight to roll past your facade.