Madness

by Sarah Jane Souther

Much has been made 
of the madness of women— 

of hysterics and
fainting spells and
wild flights of fancy 

We have been made
pawns, playthings, the prostituted,
even as we claimed the titles of
mothers, queens, prophetesses

Even when the accusations 
rang out—witch! 
we were dismissed for overflows of emotion, 
for sensitivities said to sever reason,
filled with intuitions and
prone to believe in dreams

(Pilate should have listened to his wife) 

And what now
might we make of the Sibyls?
Immortalized on the ceiling of the Sistine Chapel,
those pagan females of antiquity
who—it is said—
wrote poems with coded messages of the Christ

and saw visions of a virgin holding 
the greatest Man who would ever live;

so that even in their not-knowing,
they knew.

Are we surprised
that madness, after all,
might utter the truth?

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xoxo

SJ