at the grave of Polynicesby David McLean
she stood proud as god and on her woman's shoulders the family rested, that private state which precedes the state, her precedent carried to the idea so that even he, thought's lone soldier at philosophy's end respected, later, the words she said "the demands of the dead last longer, for we are dead forever" and she stood proud, hung proud, dead in her cave crying loud outrage, punished like the daughter she was of incest, and dead by her own brave fingers plaiting the rope around her neck, fingers brown still with residue of clay that covered a brother's body to fitting ground in decent death, the sweet and suitable grave place, and the family's sacred right to death's deep rites. as it were the blind wise, and still blinder i take your side here and ever have chosen another such woman to stand behind my prophet, my Antigone, for the future will tell the fall i foretell, the state that shall crumble unregretted while the holy soil shall always claim the brave, and the worm mutter love from the well-tenanted grave. © 2007 by David McLean. All rights reserved.