Circe and Odysseus
A poem by Julia R. DeStefano
Circe and Odysseus
Not in the moment he arrives,
in awe of the Aeaean palace
she has created for herself.
Not in the moment when Hermes
hands him a Moly herb to counteract
her infamous charms.
Not in the moments he watches,
mystified by the solitary queen of no known origin.
Her sovereignty within.
Some kind of magician, turning
then unturning men into pigs.
A primitive form of protection.
An arcane mode of survival.
He knows there is more to her and cares to look.
Finding her to be his mirror.
And yet it’s in none of these moments,
though they stir the hero.
None of those moments
but one that occurs much later.
The moment they find they speak a language
unheard by everyone else.
A shared language summoning the treasure
of their buried truths.
Love is what happens when we learn
that everyone is not for everyone,
but everyone is for someone,
and he drops his sword.
She drops her wand.
To tell a different story
amid the fallen armor.
© Julia R. DeStefano
