Athena

Even in the passing flash of images 
sliding, liquid, down the digital walls of our perceptions 
I can see your eyes 
They are hauntingly familiar, hawk like 
holding the same fierce truth as Cleopatra’s 
When she braved the swords of a thousand men

And it pierces me, the same way I was pierced 
When I first pondered the strange mix of sweetness and steel 
In the gaze of Rosa Parks 
her smile welcoming me home 
and yet reminding me of my sadness 
at the cruelty and blindness of my own kind

And in your stance I see Athena 
The Mediterranean sun glinting off your helmet 
And the delicate curve of your arm in delicious contrast 
to your razor tipped spear 
You, lady of Athens,  with the wisdom of the owl 
Bringing salt olives and bread when the sun sets over Sparta 
And the wind is calm

And having been in the shadow of Rome’s walls 
Alone, and felt the bite of a first stone thrown 
I will never forget the copper taste of blood and bone 
And were it not for your sudden shadow 
and the parchments you bore 
The iron gears of Byzantine would have rolled on 
leaving me just another stain on the cobbled path of misfortune

And I know, when the colder winds of autumn blow 
There is a similar ache in our souls 
etched from the wounds of a thousand battles 
carved indelibly on our skin, like stories on an ivory tusk 
or the henna on a young girls foot

For I too have set foot on fields still smoldering 
rough with the mark of men’s last cries 
and know the bitter wake of battle, when the silence carries more 
then could ever be said

And I too long for an olive branch 
that will not wash away in these floods 
And a kinder moon to climb across the sky