perhaps some spindly Baroque music will be heard...

'Lucretia and Tarquin' by Simon Vouet 1620

the ghost of Lucretia of Rome

in the night sky

her husband remembered

how she sat spinning

the piled wool fibers into thread

spooling it to be dyed

looming a waiting

weaving a sated memory

versus expectations of his arrival

he remembered how

her maidens went about

warming the bath

when they knew the Moon

would soon come rise

birthing light through

the window and

with enough candles lit

they knew Lucretia

would sit and

smile to reflect

what her eyes

couldn’t see

on the other side

of the courtyard wall

her husband

they also knew

would go off to fight

for her honor

after she was besieged

by rape and the blighted lust

that corruption of power brings

everyone knew trust and

virtue weren’t things

this new Rome

would be born with

they were only the prayers

the stars heard

as a night sky depends on

wrapping dead light around

every journey home

  

everyone knows

her countenance comes

under the light of the Moon

they whisper her name

all one must do

they say

is find water

bend your hand

beneath its skin and

guide what is still living

to love inside you

here is where

you might hear her

past courtyard yearns

hers, is a free soul now

burning her body’s fall

etched in echoes

of heartbeats and

last gasps of breath

so, even today

when the Moon rises

all of the new Romes

go past prayers

to where death

waits to ride

our dreams of living

inside the homes

of new Republics

without walls

without calls

to arm what

the whispers

behind them

must know

is to die

EJR ©