What flashed through your mind—its insight revered
by men like Socrates Scholasticus—
when the Christian mob, mad with zeal, murdered
you with tiles after stripping your carcass?
Did decades of teaching math help you gauge
brutal wrath of the body politic?
In the Caesareum, religious rage
swarming, did Aristotle’s “Poetics”
help you cope? Nope? After sharp potshards scraped
your flesh clean from mangled limbs they burned near
Cinaron, John of Nikiu’s writings shaped
you as witch. Did your spirit slough his smear,
praying for foul, desperate flocks who condemn
women from Alexandria to Salem?
Roger Armbrust
June 11, 2007
