To Erigone

I remember you who remained faithful to your father even unto death,
Erigone crowned with solemn rites during the festival of flowers,
when the daughters of our city swing in somber joy for you
while the streets run with wine
and revelers flush from the feast of the ox-shed marriage.
Erigone who knows the maze of sorrow
and the seduction of the grape,
Erigone who sits beside the well where the white cypress grows
and waits for those who walk the thirsty road of dust.
Erigone who shoulders the burdens that are impossible for us to endure
and finds the strength to do so in her vulnerability.
We honor you, foremost of the martyrs of the vine
and ask that you guide us into restoration and that our ancestors never thirst
and know no hunger.

This poem was commissioned by Galina as part of my June fundraising event.