This is my little take on Agamemnon's adulterous wife, Clythemnestra. |
There he stood, my husband of many years, One foot still poised in glistening bath tub And the other bore down on the tiled floor. Neither clothed nor unclothed, neither out nor indoor He stood neither on dry land nor in shimmering sea just before the shore; His dark eyes drawn down by haggard face and staring back at me. Did I feel any guilt for his murder? Orestes asked me, sword in hand, Still red and steaming from the blood of Aegisthus. Did I ever love Agamemnon? You might ask, knowing of my infamous liaison. Married young and shipped off to far away Mycenae. I bore a child, Orestes, to my bearded king And the same day he left to float the curling, churning Sea. Off to fight at Troy with the Achaeans At the scorching sands before the thick-stoned walls Where hidden, sat Helen watching the gory brawls With eyes as shocked as those of my husband before death took him too. I sent my unloved son to his grandparents Who reared him from breast to first steps. Not long did I remain impeccant. Aegisthus courted me long and hard He played every part, admirer, suitor and the bard. I was flattered, alone and as unloved as my poor cast-off son, So I watched as he plotted murder, and when all was said and done, My heart remained as cold as ice Whenever I heard spoken the name, Agamemnon. Did I feel any guilt for his murder? Orestes asked, wearisome eyes already condemning me To stand beside my lover, Aegisthus, as we were judged in the Underworld. Do I feel guilt now that the truth behind my lies has unfurled? It was with a heart of lead and a steady gaze That I confronted my husband returned from his plundering and warrior phase His desperate search for glory. His attempt at an ever-lasting story. And his story ended with death beside a cold tub, an equally cold wife. A net caught around his neck On leg bent, just touching the tiled floor And the other still enveloped by the bubbling water. Did I feel any guilt for his murder? Orestes asked me, sword in hand, Still red and steaming from the blood of Aegisthus. And I met his gaze from where I stand My shoulders squared in all their pride And I shake my head slowly from side to side. |