After the Shipwreck, Love

 by Brett Rutherford

     After Meleager, The Greek Anthology, xii, 84-85

The shipwreck’s vow to love,
on being rescued, the first he sees
if foiled by fickle Eros. A week
he languished, windless, idle,
and then for days storm-tossed
not only side-to-side but
upside down among the fishes;
ship dashed to splinters, all
of his fellows food to sharks;
he on his first voyage, alone
lived and came to shore.

A sight he was, barefoot,
and all but naked.
As it was dawn,
no one saw him.
Sheep he heard, but saw
    no shepherds.
Laughter of women came
where laundry lay on stones,
but when he approached
they had all fled somewhere,
as though some great bear
or a hungry Cyclops
     threatened them.

He chose among
the abandoned clothes
what modest raiment seemed
proper for a stranger’s entry
into the walled town.

The vow he made
to love whomever first
greeted him, came back
to his mind’s ear,
his own voice promising
against the howling gale.
Poseidon had spared him,
but what had Eros in store? 

“So be it,” he said.
“Be it crone or cripple,
beggar or brothel-maid,
I cast my lot to fate.”

And, lo! the first closed door
to a walled garden flew
open as if a wind willed it,
and there stood, bathing
from shoulders to feet
in fountain spray,
an eighteen-year ephebe,
chlamys and cap dropped
at water’s edge.

As quick as it had opened,
the door swung shut.
The lad laughed:
their eyes had locked
for just an instant,
enough for each,
if he willed,
to love the other
once and forever.

He went to an inn
across the way,
where ardent carousers
already at their wine
adopted his cause.

“As strangers come
from Zeus,” one said.
“here, take the last
coppers I’m carrying.
Another here will
    offer you lodging
and work enough
for strong hands.”

Cups raised,
    the Dionysian god
they praised.

One touched
the sleeve
of his tunic.
“That is my weave
you are wearing.
No matter — keep it.”

Now bread and oil,
lentils and meat
we put before him.
Once three wines full
he ventured to tell them
of that love oath which
the sea’s lord and Eros
bound him. “That house”
he pointed, “is where I saw
the most perfect being
in all the universe.
Pray, tell me the name
of the young man living there?”

Stone silence. Two faces
went red. Others choked down
whatever it was
     they wished to say.

“That house?”
     one asked him.
He nodded.
     All laughed.

“Welcome to Kos,
    and to ‘The Arrow’!”
the inn-host replied.
Arms reached
and went around
his shoulders.

“All day we sit and drink
and wait for that door
     to open.
We are a fellowship
     sworn to no jealousy.

Whom he chooses,
     we honor.
He walks as a godling
     among us.
Good luck to you, stranger!”