hera

lying in the bathtub,

my hair swirled out behind me

like the tails of a kite—or snakes—

i think about hera.

i think about persephone

and helen

and estella

and ursula

and a dozen other girls

who were probably fictional

but definitely real.

but mostly, i think about hera.

i think about a goddess who rules over marriage

watching as her husband lauds the heroes

he sired with other women.

i think about a mother who found her newborn

so hideous, she threw him off a mountain—

and i wonder if it was the child she found ugly,

or the memory of his father forcing inside her,

the fact that to other woman he bore gods and demigods,

kings and princesses who would be remembered forever,

yet from the consummation of their sacred bond came only

pain and deformity. i wonder if she wished she threw herself instead.

i think about yet another woman remembered as cruel and bitter,

manipulative and vindictive —

if she is remembered at all.

i think about a single line in the index of every history book.