Jackie & Ethel
They were pulled in by the forces of Jupiter, a potent wind of ambition and obligation, less noble than immortal, God-like and unwitting.
They brought the differences of distant universes: the cool dismay of icy beauty, the clutching grasp of fertile loins. They were bound by the rude commonality of others’ blood: the stains left on their hands. Brothers, lovers, husbands, dead men.
What is it in our myths that stands to honor the memory of fragile, prideful men brought down by violence and discord, yet so easily ignores the calm dignity and steady endurance of the women left behind, women who could find no common ground in the experience of others, no common ground in their shared pain, but who were linked indelibly as the stewards of the memory of these minor Gods?