Ode to Iphigenia

A sacred steed for

A strong born,

Iphigenia, Achilles stands

distant at an altar,

cross the sea.

You become a god,

or a deer, or a sacrifice,

or a wife, Iphigenia.

You are willing, or work your will,

three-bodied or singular,

a dog or a polecat,

strong yourself, or destined

to birth the strong. Iphigenia, 

you are saved!

As Hecate, or your nagging drives

Artemis to bestow a mortal death,

after all.

Euripides will tell that you lived, 

Aeschylus will argue otherwise,

But let us agree: Iphigenia, girl 

in bridal finery 

at the altar of something.