“Women were never sent the gift of divine inspiration by Phoebus Apollo, lord of the elegant lyre, master of music — or I could have sung my own song against the race of men.” 

— Medea, translated by Diane Arnson Svarlien

Antistrophe to an Andro-Sapphic Tragedy is a song too, sung not against the binary idea of a “race of men,” but in defense of the feminine and the queer. In Greek tragedy, the antistrophe is the part of a choral ode when the chorus doubles back on itself, challenging what was sung in the strophe.

The strophe of this play happens before Reno ever enters the scene. It exists in experience. It existed for me when I began writing this play in February 2020, when I was finally fed up with being told my worth was dependent on my agreeability, being told that no one would believe a woman like myself if I spoke out against the abuse I was facing. It exists for femme bisexuals every time we’re told sex with another woman “doesn’t count,” or sex with a man has made us unclean. It is the fetishization of sapphic relationships juxtaposed with the taboo of female sexuality. It exists as long as convicted sexual abusers are deemed fit to lead countries, and the women meant to represent us hide their own fear behind inward misogyny. It existed in 2022 when we were told our reproductive systems are once again federal property, and “my body, my choice” comes with fine print. 

Antistrophe is my response. 

— Greta Mae Geiser