November 1st

Achilles

Dipped in darkness,
your mother held you—crying in distress.
Protecting the slow melt of time
and the endless heroic rhyme
of your name and deeds on future lips;
she was there, hands wrenched through stolla, when the ships
came to your port.  The red-haired captain
and his arrogant older brother crane
their necks, eager to see your decision,
a choice between two Fates and Parcae’s vision,
lending a peek into the future.  All too soon
you find yourself on a ragged shore, hewn
with the bodies of your comrades
and the sense, deep in your gut, that never fades
of a different Fate: a family crest,
the pit-pat of feet and no name in history texts.


~hammeh