KASSANDRA
[scream] I lose my screams that find me again!
The dread work of prophecy buckles me
down to its BAM BAM BAM —
do you see them there those young ones
who nest by the door
like shapes in dreams
like children murdered
they hold their own flesh in their own hands
and the entrails drip where their father tasted deep.
Yes I can see this and I tell you vengeance is coming —
a soft lion tumbles in the master's bed awaiting him —
how little the great general understands
that bitch who licked his hand at the door of the house
and what she plans to do.
She has the nerve, she is a killer, female against male.
What should I call her — a kind of snake, a Skylla,
a plague, a mother who breathes out
war against her own loved ones?
How she shrieked in joy
to see that man on her doorstep.
Yet you know it's all the same to me if
anyone believes this or not.
Who cares? The future is coming.
Agamémnon 1214-1240, de Ésquilo
in Anne Carson, An Oresteia, Faber & Faber, NY: 2009.
imagem: Electra at the Tomb of Agamemnon,
de William Blake Richmond (1874) @ Art Gallery of Ontario
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