Threnody of Callirrhoe (January 2007)

I run over the steeps of Mount Ida.
I search for my son.

His father grieved
And grieves no more.
Yet I run still in my search.
Two swift horses
Are not payment enough
For what has been done.

I ride them,
They are so swift; I ride them over the waves.
I am unimpressed.
Waves are nothing to the daughter of Simois.
Two swift horses
Cannot placate me.
Hollow promises of immortality
Cannot placate me.
Your winged-footed messenger mocks us.

Will you take Ilus also?
Will you take Assaracus?
I am sure their father
Would love a set of six swift horses.
I am sure their father
Would love three sons so distinguished by the gods.

No cup of wine
Can mask the humiliation of servility,
The shame of objectification.

I am searching for my son,
That most beautiful of mortals.
Maybe I will spy his golden curls
Among the flocks.
His hounds still bark uselessly at the clouds.

Tell me, Great Eagle,
How long did your lust for him last?
How dare you tell me
That his beauty seduced you,
That he is responsible for the action you took?
Two swift horses
Are not payment enough
For what has been done.

He was a child,
Still playing at children’s games.
You brought the hatred of the Great Goddess upon him.
Thus she will abandon us forever.
Two swift horses
Are not payment enough
For what has been done.

You have taken my idol.
He is beauty incarnate.
You have taken what existed to awe the world
And ruined him.
In your selfishness,
He was only for you.

You took my love and bruised him.
Two swift horses
Are not payment enough
For what has been done.