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By Andrea Gerada

Truth is, the first blow

was drawn by you.

Foaming mouth, roomful of gloat,

short skirt anger and secret smashing cars.

So I turned to shop for honeyed dreams,

and devised this cult of love.

In mirrors I look like my worst enemy, I say

to a woman who wasn’t my mother.

It splits my breath in half.

You’re haunted, she says, mysteriously sniffs.

I miss all your texts and unanswered guilt,

a lifetime of yellowbook drama.

All I know is that deer pay

an astronomical price. In return for the life

you spent running wild,

I stood on the altar of all things chipped.

Omen abreast, superstitious itch.

Here comes madness, here is your inheritance.

Aren’t happy days ahead? The ads and priests sneer,

sip gold goblets, sleeping softened mud.

Our halcyon years for dispossession.

Yet slabs of stone still stop me dead

and I think to when the wind paused elegiac:

Yours for mine, or so it goes.


"Iphigenia" speaks to the penance daughters pay under angry fathers, while also alluding to the fear that a child has inherited their parent's worst traits. It's inspired by the Greek mythological figure, Iphigenia, who is sacrificed by King Agamemnon to Artemis. In this more modernized poem, the persona must choose whether to speak her truth or live a half-life."

- Andrea Gerada


About the poet:

Andrea Gerada and Iphigenia features in the second issue of Erato Magazine, Sacrifice.


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