Criseyde

They said Cassandra
Was the cursed one
But every woman knows too much.
I am used by now
To my voice getting caught in my teeth.
It doesn’t help
That I can smell tomorrow’s burning.
No one is interested
In the geometry
Of a falling city.
I sit politely and fan myself
Listening to old philosophies
Trying not to show
I see the sparks of death in their eyes.
My soles feel the road to come
The cool boards of an enemy’s ship
The freedom of early surrender.

Irina Dumitrescu teaches medieval literature at the University of Bonn

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