So Much Minerva

Then, the Strand They strew’d with all the goods he had, bestow’d By the renown’d
Phæacians, since he show’d So much Minerua.
                                            —Chapman’s Homer: The Odyssey XIII. 179



Landed, as if jettisoned to this
moist crotch of habitat.

Hurled, I’m sure,
by some enabling fiction.
The bald pate bristled and
the thing fell apart.

They gave me a bowl and a knife to stir humanity’s discontent.
A dun dish to decant your desire.
In this life, said Daddy, you won’t feel so pretty.
Then left me to assume
some form or swan.

As if
I needed pyres by the river
and the slashed throat of swine. Ululating youths
leaving pies on my breast.

Do you see how I learnt to feel
next to nothing?