electra, always filled with fire,
burned herself in her anger once again.
she stared at my funeral pyre,
and wished our mother met my end instead.
yet, they’re alike after all.
they curdle and flinch at the mention of my name,
they decide someone must take the fall,
though to different people they cast a different blame.
once a quiet bundle in my arms,
chrysothemis has grown into a young shadow.
our house has become a web of harms
as she peers through the window.
it is a foolish hope she remembers me—
they don’t speak of my existence.
to her, I am a stranger lost at sea.
to our family, I am a reason for persistence.
gone are the days
where little orestes crawled into my bed,
still lost in the haze of night terrors,
my shoulder bearing the weight of his head.
he pushes open the doors of my room,
just as he did then.
but now the bloodshed consumes
and he looks like father’s men.
Jan 14
Jan 14, 2026 at 6:55 PM UTC