Things Abandoned to Hermes

 by Brett Rutherford

     Adapted from Julianus, Prefect of Egypt, The Greek Anthology, vi, 28

Sparing the fish from
     this day forward,
I, Baeto, old and trembling,
leave everything to Hermes —
the rods, the oar, the hooks,
a weighted net as large
     as any man could handle,
the floats, the well-worn creels,
even the dark stone, fire’s mother
from which I brought that element
to warm cold nights ashore.

I am done with the sea, done
altogether, so here,
to make an end to sear-faring,
I bequeath you my anchor,
the one true thing that kept
my unstable craft in place.

To A Garden Priapus

 by Brett Rutherford

     Adapted from Anonymous, The Greek Anthology, vi, 22

To Priapus, his due,
these things
the garden yields up
in his merry image —

The new-burst sphere
     of a pomegranate,
          spilling seed,

a quince boy-beautiful
     with finest down,
the alluring fig,
     skin ever-wrinkled,

grapes fat and tight
in purple clusters,
ready to yield
a flood of wine,

walnut just out
of its green rind,
testicular.

Rude god carved out
of a lightning-felled
oak, accept these offerings!

 

 

Her Little Apples

by Brett Rutherford

     Adapted from Paulus Silentarius, The Greek Anthology, vi, 290

She sent him home with two apples,
rosy red. Her mother watched
but missed their secret gaze as eyes
outlined the apples, hand to hand.

What wizardry she worked,
ensorcelling desire so that,
alone, his hands trace ’round
and ’round the apples’ edges,
eyes closed, the curve of her —