Pandora's Box

I have had some misgivings about publishing this here, as it is not my poem to publish. But I came across this charming piece by an old friend of mine. He wrote this poem and mailed it to me. The poem essentially tells the story of our affair, though his terminology certainly adds drama to our shared history. And exaggerates a bit - as what is "years" in this poem, was truly merely "days" or maybe weeks. However, his writing of this poem was one of the most romantic things anyone has ever done for me. I've since lost touch with him. And googling his name has been to no avail. But Jason Wilkie, if you're out there, thank you for lighting up my heart with this poem. I hope you are happy and well.


Before the Return

Invocation:

I thought the muse no longer sang in me
That there were no words left
With which I might write
and all was silence

I.
Darkness

He lies flat on his knotted back
as the candle-light flickers over his naked body
all day he toiled and sweat
binding tight and making sea-worthy
the vessel of his deliverance
that will take him home
and from her arms
that held him tight
for seven short years.

He snores loudly
so it is his habit to let her drift away first.
He lies awake
listening to her breathing
steady and rhythmic
He rests his head on her soft flesh
somewhere between her shoulder and her breast
her sighing whispering sleep
lulls him toward darkness...

iv.
Twilight

She wakes up
a little before dawn
a chill has entered the room
and his body has rolled away from hers.
His body no longer presses warm against her.

He looks tense
More tense than he has looked in years (in 7 years)
Since he struggled from the sea
drowning in his own pathetic tears.
He collapsed, broken, on the rocky shore.
She found him there
She picked up the pieces
she put them together again
(as best she could).

He is still holding her hand.
She thinks: “He does not hold my hand
So much as I hold his.”
When he first came to Ogygia
He was afraid of the darkness.
She has had many, many lovers
Both men and women -- Goddesses and mortals
But of all men
He has been the softest
There were hours when all that they would do
was lie in bed and softly caress each other’s naked flesh.
She caresses his back, caresses the knots
out of his being.

He is feminine and still
tranquil as a cat
Each year spent beside her, each moon, each night
smoothed another hard line from his face.
All day he told her

how excited he would be to go
then he tells her
that he loves her.
She knows he is glad to leave.
She knows how excited he is to be returning home.
(Every traveler is a citizen of Ithaca)
She can not go to Ithaca.
She tries to share his joy.

v.
Regret

Hero’s regret:
Homes that are lost
Battles that are lost
Lovers that are lost
Lives that are lost

Do Goddesses regret?
She could have murdered him
Or left him to die
Or enchanted him
Or held him captive
against his will
Do Goddesses regret?

Every joy is agony. Every bliss is pain.
Every love is hate.
(And none of these are opposites).

vi.
History

Is not so kind
Her/story is distorted
She is depicted as a jailer
as a nymphomaniac
as a ruthless dominatrix
as smothering, womanly death...
wisely she is unconcerned
with the history of men...

vii.
Morning Light

...He sees Calypso
daughter of Atlas
(Her name means “she who conceals”)
as she stands high on a rocky shore
The slight trace of a bittersweet smile
crosses her face
It does not conceal
the slight salty wetness of a tear
choked back...

This voyage has not been
A hero’s voyage
the man bares
144 scars
for 144 men
But for this man
the greatest challenge was not
the cyclops cave
or the island of the Lastragoneans
It was not the Scilla or Charybdis
The greatest temptation has been
to remain forever
in the silky, soft sheets of Calypso’s bed...