Mors Didonis
A retelling of Book IV of Virgil’s Aeneid

“Why did you do it?” Iris asks
With confusion on her face and my hair in her hand
My own hands aren’t fit to hold
Anything at all, covered
As they are in the seafoam
Of red that is my own blood
Was
Nothing of mine is anymore
Already I feel myself losing
Depth, becoming shade
“Because… I loved him,” I answer
After too long a pause
And I did love him
His body, his mind, all
Except his Gods
“But didn’t you love your husband?”
“I did. I do? I don’t
Know… but yes.”
“But he died, and you
(Died too, Iris, foolish girl)
Lived, and now…”
“I had a city
To build, a brother
To punish, things
I had to do.”
“And are there now no more
Cities? Nothing left?
It is you who have died
Dido, the world lives still!”
She doesn’t understand
The Gods, even
The small ones can never know
What a woman knows
What she learns in her first breath
Before her first blood has ever passed
Some men, you live for, for
Others, you die.

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