Portia

coniugis audisset fatum cum Portia Bruti
et subtracta sibi quaereret arma dolor,
'nondum scitis' ait 'mortem non posse negari?
credideram fatis hoc docuisse patrem'
dixit et ardentes avido bibit ore favillas
'i nunc et ferrum, turba molesta, nega'

When Cato, martyr, in his unyielding protest
At last died in vigour and in face
I struggled not to cry out
I was shielded, with principles
that kept me, like a puzzle, together, as if by gum,
But when it was Brutus' turn,
Over Caesar: the same quarrel,
Those pieces came apart,
Gum evaporated (dissolved with tears)
And my soul called out for weapons
But attendants turned from me, and so
I sank lower, and saw glowing embers
At the end of my tunnel
Not cold, metal light, not a journey
-But the end of a book
I am not to me made a mockery of
It was my right to die
To join Brutus again at the end of the line
My eager mouth, in chiastic pattern,
Swallowing fire, unashamed.
I am grief, I am loyal death
And I cannot be refused
Go now, deny me a sword?
Drunk on passion, burning my throat
Relive me in lessons
I am proud to follow in their hollow
Blood-soaked footsteps
But I did not die for Brutus, or Cato, or even Caesar
I alone felt the pain, and here lies Portia
Who loved her father, and her husband
But who loved grief most of all.