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HELEN'S ODYSSEY



Medusa wore curving S's in her hair
like Ceopatra's asp-headdress
and turned men to stone
but this tale told by men
says nothing of Helen
approaching the snake-haired one, weary, long hair
blowing like eels in the Aegean wind,
welcomed to the cave.

In these legends
men become monuments
women, like Lot's wife,
merely turn to salt,
melt in cold rain
are not heard of again.

How they love to tell of Troy
of Menelaus's wife, stolen
how warships set out as testaments
to his vengeance:
but Helen was forgotten in the battle-din.
Out of history she fell
freed by the poet's indifference.

She sneaked out the back gate with Priam's gold
and enjoyed a quiet voyage among the isles,
received in dignity by princesses and sorceresses.
Now she will tell how she roamed;
the wine-dark sea, Circe's embrace, Medusa's
talk of partnership, Penelope's cry of joy
as she strode at last into her home
proud-eyed and strong.

She rests under an olive tree and speaks
as people gather round, and wonders if
someday down the centuries, another woman will
hear her whisper between Homeric lines, marveling, smiling.