The Woman of Vix
Let my crooked look fall on you in life
and you’ll be free of infirmity and pain
and our people will know the far future.
I may wander the earth with a knobbled walk
and this hard, twisted face I turn at you,
and while no man will spread my waddling legs
I already know how you’ll bury me:
a thousand liters of wine in one krater
of bronze, a frieze of chariots and horses
on its rim and a gorgon gazing out
from each handle. I will be laid on a
wagon and adorned with Greek and Etruscan
treasure, with amber and diorite and iron,
with brooches and beads and rings and a torque
of gold round my neck fashioned at the ends
into the paws of a lion, and topped
with two tiny winged horses in ascent.
Not bad for a woman no one will love
and just right for a woman you can’t ignore.
France, 480 BC
Tim Miller‘s poem “The Woman of Vix” is part of a larger collection on prehistoric Europe, the entirety of which will be published later this year by the High Window Press. Other poems from this collection have appeared in Crannog, Londongrip, The High Window, Poethead, Cider Press Review, Cumberland River Review, The Basil O’Flaherty, Albatross, The Journal (Wales), Literary Juice, Bitter Oleander, Juked, Concho River Review, Foliate Oak, and others. His long narrative poem, To the House of the Sun, was published in 2015 by S4N Books. He writes about religion, history, and poetry at www.wordandsilence.com.