scribble scrabble
Dido's wealth-obsessed brother Pygmalion secretly plotted and succeeded in murdering her first husband. Who also happened to be her uncle. Ah, the Greeks. In utter grief and rage Dido took all of her husband's treasures, about 80 men and women, sailed to Carthage, rolled up her satin sleeves and built an empire. A sexless empire. She swore to never marry again and that no woman may couple with any man either.
but he betrays me. In a remote cave a knot of witches cackle.
Dido's face shivering across the surface of a cauldron.
"The Queen of Carthage--whom we hate!"
hissing.
and a sorceress brings a henchman to her side. "go, my trusty elf--in the form of Mercury himself."
the apparition appears before Aeneas like fog at first, and then glitters and hovers and beckons. "stay, prince. hear great Jove's command. He summons thee this night away."
"Tonight?"
"Tonight thou must forsake this land."
Dido. Queen of Carthage.
grew before her wealthy uncle's eyes, and then she had grown to his eyes, and then they were wed, brilliantly wealthy.
And her brother with a jaw set, a King with cravings,
watching his uncle with his eyes only.
The bride. the tongues of carpet
in gold, the birds in glittering cages, and murmurs of boxes,
chests,
enormous clots of diamonds, bits of ark and chipped stone inscribed by a heaven,
heavy metals. In rooms, behind Dido's eyes.
The uncle, the golden goose, slaughtered, knifed to the navel,
and tortured Dido gasping no information,
prudent and wild, gathering ships and oranges,
women, maps,
she fled her brother and the empty body that seemed to spill her own blood.
bloodless cheeks, alone in carthage, emotionless but for ambition, building,
founding.
Royals sought her out, knelt and begged,
pressed her closed lips to theirs,
left in stomps.
But this was no fickle princess. A dead woman,
and by decree her own women dead as well,
though they throbbed and fanned themselves,
and Dido sitting for hours in a room with wine, her lady in waiting sewing,
on the horizon a boat, a fingerlift from the queen and the boat destroyed by sundown,
until one morning she arose and on the shore were men.
Shouting men, talking, ripped and soaking,
and a throng of her women nearby in the sand, their hems darkened by the ocean,
watching, smiling.
and Dido frozen in the window as one man, browner than the rest and apart from the women, looks up directly and a dial spins wildly behind her eyes, locking and unlocking. an invisible arrow sailing cleanly through the window and striking deep into the heavy material of the front of her dress.
but he betrays me. In a remote cave a knot of witches cackle.
Dido's face shivering across the surface of a cauldron.
"The Queen of Carthage--whom we hate!"
hissing.
and a sorceress brings a henchman to her side. "go, my trusty elf--in the form of Mercury himself."
the apparition appears before Aeneas like fog at first, and then glitters and hovers and beckons. "stay, prince. hear great Jove's command. He summons thee this night away."
"Tonight?"
"Tonight thou must forsake this land."
Dido. Queen of Carthage.
grew before her wealthy uncle's eyes, and then she had grown to his eyes, and then they were wed, brilliantly wealthy.
And her brother with a jaw set, a King with cravings,
watching his uncle with his eyes only.
The bride. the tongues of carpet
in gold, the birds in glittering cages, and murmurs of boxes,
chests,
enormous clots of diamonds, bits of ark and chipped stone inscribed by a heaven,
heavy metals. In rooms, behind Dido's eyes.
The uncle, the golden goose, slaughtered, knifed to the navel,
and tortured Dido gasping no information,
prudent and wild, gathering ships and oranges,
women, maps,
she fled her brother and the empty body that seemed to spill her own blood.
bloodless cheeks, alone in carthage, emotionless but for ambition, building,
founding.
Royals sought her out, knelt and begged,
pressed her closed lips to theirs,
left in stomps.
But this was no fickle princess. A dead woman,
and by decree her own women dead as well,
though they throbbed and fanned themselves,
and Dido sitting for hours in a room with wine, her lady in waiting sewing,
on the horizon a boat, a fingerlift from the queen and the boat destroyed by sundown,
until one morning she arose and on the shore were men.
Shouting men, talking, ripped and soaking,
and a throng of her women nearby in the sand, their hems darkened by the ocean,
watching, smiling.
and Dido frozen in the window as one man, browner than the rest and apart from the women, looks up directly and a dial spins wildly behind her eyes, locking and unlocking. an invisible arrow sailing cleanly through the window and striking deep into the heavy material of the front of her dress.