For Erzebet: From Sappho, I Should have Listened

Here is a poem published in my chapbook on po

For Erzebet

The Blood Countess

“Justice, my lord,

Shall I have Justice?”

I say this to the barren

Wall, cold, stony, stoic.

Below more stones lie in wake,

Splotched with lichens, just lichens.

“Blood,” cried all,

“Blood,” swore my Cousin King,

“More Blood!” screamed the

Villagers—

Was it mine they wanted?

Was it mine they saw on the stones?

Was it maiden spilt, as I now

Stand  judged of letting?

But where is my story?

When do lichens turn to  Blood?

To Blood money for me?

Who speaks for me?

What ill fame cloaks me?

With no defense I am

Accused.

Blood, mine royal, damns me,

My trial is forbidden to me.

My husband is gone,

His blood spilled in battle

For king and country he

Widowed me,

For greed and ransom,

He forfeited my home…

Blood of innocents is spilled,

Blood of ignorance

Blood of young girls

Of Iron maidens  never met,

Blood of crimes laid at my door

Till now, I stand and ask again

As the cold wind sighs through cracks,

“Shall I have Justice,

Master Jailor?’

And the walls weep blood-red lichens

And reply, “For you, netry: