riddle of a sphinx

She, daughter of the mighty Typhon,
womb-sharer of the 100-headed dragon,
tucks wings beneath haunches, waiting
for the one to unlock a burden of ancestors.
Stumbling on swollen feet, he comes
not because he knows the answer to her riddle.
This man is answer manifest.

For there at the foot of Aetna lies a father,
sinew-thief, Cadmus’s fool.
Belching forth his pitiful fire,
he singes her lion heart.
Soon she will cast herself from these rocky cliffs,
and all will be fulfilled.
Damp eyes scan the horizon,
settling on the gates of Thebes.

    Which creature,she demands,
    moves in the morning on feet of four?

‘Twas man, a man named Cadmus, treading first
on the four-footed dragon to mark the dawn
of his noble city, planting teeth of ire
upon an accursed house. Such a city embracing
ignorance breeds a volatile, damned throne.

    What animal,she queries,
    walks at noon on two?

Look you, to the lustful Laius,
and be not blind to Chrysippus,
a man-child raped.
Witness drunken lust that denies a wife
her first-born son. Poor Jocasta,
she is but a pawn ensnared in this wicked net
cast to right a reign of wrongs.

    Who then, (but Oedipus)
    comes stumbling late on three?

Four doomed generations seeded
beneath this Theban Royal Roof,
all to breed a carnivore.
He is but a prophecy fulfilled,
consuming father, mother, self.
This is the honor among beasts
mortals fail to understand.