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Syntagma
In Athens, the old gods still sleep on marble
Artemis bares her belly to the sky
while Hephaestus slinks near taverna kitchens,
seeking the ovens’ warmth.
Aphrodite flirts in the crossroads,
wandering streets and boulevards,
She will prance and preen for treats from sugared fingers,
and slip from scent to scent.
Poseidon paces the square
too long from the sea and too restless to seek it.
He bays for rain and guards the puddles
Tridentlessly protecting tiny, dirty kingdoms
Zeus pads the perimeter
lounges beneath the cypress, laps from the fountain,
far from Hera beneath the orange trees,
Her Hesperides still fragrant, her eyes closed to the exhaust.
Dawn Nikithser has been writing since she could hold a crayon in her babyfat hand. She is pleased to say that both her handwriting and her ideas have improved since then, though she will still use a crayon if nothing else is available.
qarrtsiluni 