The Graveyard of Angry Women
I
In the graveyard of angry women, no one is dead
they wait
beneath mounds of earth, piled on like stones
at a witch trial;
they writhe and resist
and cannot rest even now
even now
In the graveyard of angry women there are no coffins
only ash, and the dirt is hot
some of them think they must have earned Hell
because why else
the fire
why else the fire
II
Helena’s tragedy was not that Demetrius didn’t love her
But that she loved him in his apathy;
she would have given her spine
for a walking stick,
her teeth as jewels, strung
into a necklace for any other woman.
The tragedy of Helena is that she knew she wasn’t loved
III
If Iago truly loved Emilia,
why was ambition the beacon he followed
into hellfire? Why abandon her in the cold light
of paradise?
If Iago never loved Emilia,
why did he slip
a knife between her ribs?
IV
Medea flew a chariot
of dragons away from her brother’s dismembered corpse
she knew her atrocity,
but she also knew she would challenge the gods
for her love
Medea poisoned the children they bore together
Medea poisoned her lover’s new bride
Medea has been tried and tried again
and found unpardonable
and in her violence, she seemed to be screaming:
I did it for you! I damned myself for you!
V
When my mom learns I might be a man
she asks if it’s because I feel
ashamed
to be a woman, too;
God, I hope
I hope that’s all it is
I reply:
I’m ashamed to be a man
Rumi Petersen is a poet, playwright, director, archer, and lover of blending all these things into a nonsense amalgamation of words and emotions. Can often be found doing improv.