My dear Prasutagus’ ashes would sigh

to learn Romans deem woman

a conquerable creature,

an antechamber in which to dump

lust and fume

not heir to her own fate

Claudius wooed with honeyed tongue

the Iceni; Prasutagus could not see

the cerise ideals, even as I spoonfed him my

reservations

now Claudius has fallen by

to Nero

Where our offerings once appeased

we are now taxed season by season

ancestral soil stripped underfoot

stripped the promise to my dead husband

stripped my little girls

forced my swollen eyes upward

birch-switch laced my back

unheeded

I watched Rome take their grace

seed my daughters a lifetime of nightmare

We are solstice-minded, faces south,

Andraste in our favour on the wind

the hare runs auspicious paths from my skirts

bodes well for arms

these days know why the dreams of dying

touched me and said so

Low tide will leave russet rings

from here to the shores of Gaul,

Nero! Erect the stone walls of your grey empire

I will topple them for a view all my own:

I will be the arrow that sings into your life and

you the mark I collect at each bow-draw.