Penelope

Men and so many gods loved him,
and he came home to you.
Do you thank him nightly?
He could have lived and died in the paradise
of beautiful nymph eyes.

But could you ever understand
his sacrifice, dear lady?
He went off to suffer,
had fame and following;
you remained
with nothing to do
except be loyal and weave.
You know nothing
of the wind and monsters, the shivering sea.
You know nothing of goddesses,
seeing only a woman’s flesh reflected
in his mighty eyes.

Is that why you never spit at his travel-weary feet
and asked to be more
than another deed in his crown of thorns?
You never asked why
he picked his plot at love’s expense –
for surely we carve the gods and fateswith our beliefs –
never said in the dark before sleep:
“Odysseus, why not Calypso, instead of me?”
Did you fear the words: "Oh my dear Penelope,
Calpyso could fight off suitors herself,
if she had them. She was stronger even than I!
But you, you needed me."
You feared the words because you’re weak.

It would befit him to join the rock pushers
perpetually aching with impossible deeds.
You were just as bad, sustaining
only for the beauty wrought by pain.
I imagine, I shall meet you both in a heaven
where we will all three grunt and wait forever for love