Heliodora, Dead!

 by Brett Rutherford

     Adapted from Meleager, The Greek Anthology, vii, 476

1

Tears by the teacup, tears
     by the pail, tears
a pond, a lake, an ocean —
these the last offerings
in proof of love I send 

down through the earth,
through crevice, cave, and rock,
down as a torrent, nine days
a waterfall to Hades —

thee, Heliodora, I mourn.
Each tear I shed
     is like a nail, thrust
deep inside me. These words

I add to all your friends’
laments, your parent’s grief.
Since I come late,
I wash away salt-stains
your other lovers deposited
(no matter now! I would
embrace them, each and all!)

My piteous, unabated flow
will slake your need below,
for tears earn merit there.

2

Still in death are you dear
to me, Heliodora, lost
to me forever. Undying love
and longing return to me —
O anger, and the amnesia
of jealous rage, begone! —

as I append these lines
to that bare stone tablet
on which is scrawled,
     impermanent,
in dyes that do not etch:
Heliodora — Beloved.

When readers ages hence
repeat these lines, even
in tongues unknown,
will they have wings to cross
the ever-still Acheron?

O reader, weep!
O River of Death, carry
my words to Heliodora!

Alas, no more upon the earth
shall such a woman abide
if this one is not praised below.
Hades! Look upon her kindly!

3

Destruction has taken her
     from me, nor did
I clasp her dead body before
they wrapped the shroud
around her. No one told me! 

Destruction has taken her,
leaving us all above ground
with nothing but ashes,
ashes that could be anyone.
No scent of hair or neck-nape,
no hint of the oiled sheen
of skin adheres to dust.

Great Mothers below:
acknowledge your daughter.
Deeply she loved,
     and if too much
    and among too many,
the joy she gave and took
was always honest. Take
her in your bosoms, Mothers,

and plead her case
     to Hades, he
of the adamantine heart.
Let she, who is bewailed by us,
become Persephone’s hand-maid. 

To see her one more time
is not given to this lowly poet:
to know her among the bless’d
is all the boon I pray. 

We above, are half-shadows
already, worn with weeping.
Destruction has taken her.

Alas! Alas! for Heliodora!