But oh, holy, to be crowned not by burning ships, poets’ ecstasy, vainglorious heroes, gods’ idle chatter or men’ s violence, but by her resonant, perfect kiss, lingered over, devoured, holy. Rose-water sweet. Remembered. This memory the only responsibility I accept.
Cassandra: This memory the only responsibility I accept: from amidst the fractured cavalcade of memorial, dystopic list, burned dream, psychic break, I linger over one perfect phosphorized moment when the moon pulsed lilac and I took courage from my futures and pasts: shook out my love for her. The present dims in recognition and I try not to adore my restraints, marking time between
Troy’ s astonishment and Mycenae’ s death. Cousins bolt, sisters sugar blister, fathers sacrifice themselves for air, and I look forward, never back, curse my serpent tongue, deny it even fragrant bliss. Survival, mutilation worse about to be delivered, the welcome by invidious wives:
I arrive under the“ protection” of a man.
32 Cauldron Anthology