Penelope

“Penelope”

Brave Penelope overlooking the sea
holding Telemachus to your breast
you wave your husband off to war
You walk in Ithaca below the olive trees
A widow’s grief you fear
As you stand along the shore.

The suitors come hungry at the scent
Of the vacant throne Odysseus left behind.
You weave Laertes’s shroud
To keep them all at bay
Unraveling it at night
Lest they claim your hand by day.

Athena haunts your dreams
To test your faithfulness
She stirs desire in your breast
To fan Antinous’ fire
108 men wish to claim you
But you long for Odysseus.

Twenty years you wait
Alone in your king’s bed
O brave queen of Ithaca
alone you raise Telemachus
who grows strong, his father’s son
The suitors ever claiming, Odysseus is dead.

Your maidens they betray you
And Antinous press his suit
You play your final hand
Your husbands bow to string
The old man takes up the bow
And shoots the axe hafts through.

Your lord he has returned
And with Athena’s grace
He slays the rabid dogs
That sought your faithful hand
Penelope, queen of Ithaca
Who ruled an ancient land.