VI. No one ascends from the underworld unmarked

Evaporation in the Dark
Mama sells salt for a living.
Used to sell it as tears but
she tells me she’s learned better now.
She has a patch of sunlight
in our backyard––says I
am her sunlight.

Sometimes, I sit,
watch the salt pool crystallize.
When Papa comes home,
the little patch of sunlight leaves.
I shine for her until the sun returns.

Once, I dreamt
of Mama’s life before mine began.
Papa tells it like a real dream but
Mama’s eyes speak only
of evaporation in the dark.

I used to think
Papa never contributed to this family
Business. But he does.
Though Mama’s sun shines even when
the moon is high, it flees at the sight
of Papa’s night, and
I watch him wring money
from Mama, flood that little pond
until something swells
flows and fills riverbeds, long-dead
down Mama’s face.

In secret,
I add my own.

One day, Mama finds me and
fathers me in her arms for a second, then
gathers her pond––our pond––
into a bottle, pours it
down the drain, takes me

by the hand and
we leave.

I never see Papa again.

Father’s Glory

Dear Father,
I killed a boy today
but you knew that.

Dear Father,
I killed a boy today,
his eyes, dark, as I bled.
I called for you,
and Achilles came
lips soft on my throat as you looked
away and I see you
in my reflection when I kill.
I’ve never looked so much like you before.

Dear Father,
I think I know now why you never look at me the stars.
Stars are a poet’s love,
and though Achilles tells me they carve them
into the sky I know
that true stars spark across his cheekbones and
linger behind my eyes as he stands
chest puffed, hair glinting.
I know he will be a star one day.
He’s already mine.

Dear Father,
I wrote this inside your armour.
The chestpiece remembers you––
it says you once had wings.
I wonder how someone forgets that.
His armour is lighter than yours.
So is the sound of his eyes, the color
of his laugh. I wonder if you were ever young
Father?

Achilles,
Troy breeds cold mournings.
I cannot fly and leave you it all,

but I wear your armour, and move
my shoulders as if they remember wings.
I hope you live long,
lift yourself above the sky, above
the cold.

Yours,
Glory

Asterion The Minotaur

First Mother taught me silence
She said screaming boys are weak.
Then Father taught me violence
A hard hand blooming sharp on my cheek.

Mother says screaming makes boys weak
So she sends seven to me every year.
Seven flowers bloom sharp on my cheek
So I breathe in dust and cough up fear.

Seven come, but she never does.
Their bodies rot in shadowed halls.
I breathe in fear and cough up dust
Lessons carved in blood on the walls.

I wade through rot in shadowed halls,
A winding cage to silence a star.
But lessons fade and blood still stains
A boy, a friend, who yearned to fly.

A winding cage won’t silence a star,
Screaming, smoking, their voices charred.
A boy, a friend, who learned to fly,
To the sun, I hear, who loves too hard.

Screaming, smoking, my voice is charred.
Human hands cleave soul from skin.
The sun, I hear, loves too hard,
My crown of horns was never from within.

But I speak in gold, my voice unbound.
Screaming, smoking, my soul is charred.
My final lesson was given in silence
Still, I rise, meet Mother in the violence.

Rest in Peace, Sisyphus––Loving Son, Husband, Father
I walk the path of no true father,
In Tartarus, where phantoms yearn.
I walk with dreams I dare not shatter.

This rock, this thirst, it bleeds me sober
Glasses returning with every turn.
I walk the path of no true father.

No Fates await beyond this tether
Silent shadows, mute and stern.
I walk with dreams I dare not shatter.

The moon, the stars, the shine, I gather
Each drink a death unlearned.
I walk the path of no true father.

I pray to hell for broken armour
Trapped in flames that never burn.
I walk with dreams I dare not shatter.

Gods don’t bargain, they tally slaughter
I drink the fire, but hunger churns.
I walk the path of no true father.
I walk with dreams I dare not shatter.