Ulysses: Endgame - Patrice Warrender

[Larry Robinson]

Ulysses: Endgame
 
Hero? Why is it then I tremble,
alone at night, when dead men
with desolate eyes wander
the dark corners of my dreams?
 
In sweat of sleep, I see Achilles
felled by a single blow to his heel
and feel my own life hanging
by a thread from Penelope’s loom.
 
With every rise of sun, I cough up
blood and ash from smoldering Troy,
my spittle a blot of a once great city
and its people lost to all of time.  
 
At long last, I set sail for Ithaca, but
my knees quake to think of Penelope,
waiting with her weavings of lonely
days and unravelings of lonelier nights.
 
What will she read in the red script
of my eyes? The slaughter of women
and children? Hector’s obscene death?
Old Queen Hecuba on her knees?
 
I must scrub the stench of blood
from my pores, wash Circe’s scent
from my tangled hair, take care only
Penelope’s name falls from my lips.
 
I will swear to her, if I could begin
again, I would choose to stay and raise
our boy, tend the fields, and grow old
with her by my side.
 
And yet, as I vow to speak these words,
my hands grow restless for heft of sword
and shield and I long for the company
of old companions at my side.
 
 
	- Patrice Warrender
 
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