Telemachus' Lament

Ulysses, my father, caged a siren,
presented it to me; from whom
I drew a wailing song, clutched
forth a salt-laced love.

I sired a child, who, silent
in hybrid throat, learned
the lyre, choired a
voiceless chant.

From my mother's web,
I stole a filament, bound
the siren's mouth that no
other could discern her song.

I did not know this action
meant an ashen death
toward my risen
goddess of the rocks:

my own lament was loud
across the ocean.

 

 

© 1998 Sean Russell Friend