Monday, October 24, 2022

Too Many Arrows

by Brett Rutherford

     after Meleager, Greek Anthology, V, 215

Love, listen to me.
If not to me, then heed
my interceding Muse.
Sleepless each night,
pining for Heliodora,
all I can do is let
the Muse direct
my weary stylus.

Why, sly godling,
does your little bow
send arrows only my way?
So many have pierced me,
all writ with the name
of one lady, over and over
inscribed "Heliodora,"
that I am more porcupine
than man. I bristle, I bleed
with all the fire-fletched
shafts. What can I do?

Do I have to insult you,
prompter of marriage,
and instigator of progeny,
the delight of maidens
and pining youths?
Must I write here:
See Meleager, poet,
murdered by Cupid.

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