Upon The Fall Of Troy - Bruce Moody

[Larry Robinson]

Upon The Fall Of Troy 

 

Nothing occurs this morning,

nothing save the near drowning of Odysseus,

who keeps pressing on nonetheless

until, under the tangled bower

of the boughs of the wild and the tame

twin olives, he covers himself with a duff of leaves,

and grey-eyed Athena grants him rest.

 

Let us then dream with Odysseus

the rest of our lives,

as he did upon such parlous storm.

The door will open

and all our daughters pour in.

And thus the plain day begins.

 

I hope I wish you well as

I bury my nose in my affairs.

Odd jobs to be done about this place,

A thing or two to write

and the chain of old responsibilities.

 

If you think the chores and itches of Job

are required, sit down and have

this tea with me. Mercy also is a sacred cup.

It empties suffering. And peace

is neither tedious nor bland.

 

What burned the capitol down

is long over the horizon.

The earthquake shock trembled mountains,

I can tell you that. But I neither

remember nor recall the indulgence.

 

So settle with me here. The dogs

may scramble up our knees

and we may forget what we meant to say.

This smile, this smile may depart when we must write:

 

“They told me, Heraclitus, they told me you were dead.”

It strikes us dumb, our systems shake

and bow down under the heavy news

of the end of the love of our lives. 

Words that tell us, yes, there is nothing left to come.

We weep so deeply. Because that, that is the final tremor.

 

	- Bruce Moody


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