Ithakos

“For nowise, methinks, didst thou come hither on foot.” Odyssey 16.59

I’ve gone as far North as I can now and all the feathers

cling to the women’s bodies, all the echoes of handwriting scrawled

with intent on the canvas faces of humantide. I am not dreaming

up any such dark forces, intent on meaning, I am dreaming

of lunch and ladies cloaked in organza and bright jellyfish cloth—

the sequins scream into my heart and too, the red-roving of love

written on gesso’d taut. How can all these women walk on glass

giraffe feet? How can they strut into all the canvas’ blank spaces,

intent on not stepping onto the lines, killing their mothers?

Theirs is a world of games and loveliness and something like machines

guiding their motions. I am but a petty squab, a brushstroke

of darkness upon their porcelain cheeks. Look now, we are all laughing.

Look now, my heart grows feathers and flies past all the sunstained

buildings into impossible upward North. No turning back.