How many moons,
how many Persephone cycles
stolen from you? You gave Poseidon
no offense, nor any of the gods.
Our beloved, chaste Athena
protecting our bed from
the suitors relentlessly pursuing you,
dreaming of taking my place.
So brilliant at the loom,
always remembering,
errors woven in
to appease Athena; still I know
the shroud was beautiful,
a fresh work of art
every
single
day,
your graceful fingers
flying with the weft,
unimagined intricacies, caution
thrown to the wind.
No pattern shunned,
all undone; failure looming
out of reach
until
betrayed by your maid, your tireless
undoing undone by loose lips
aspiring to vermin above her station
while I broke the hearts
of two goddesses. Nothing
in this world can hold a man
like the silence of your eyes.
I return to you, fight another war
inside my home.
You’ll not spend
another night alone.
About the Creator
Harper Lewis
Intrusive rhyme bothers me, except as a weapon.
Intertextuality is my passion.
Formalist/ New Critical are my guiding theories.
My words are mine, not a robot’s.
MA English literature, CofC
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