The Bed
After he’d lain again with Penelope,
Odysseus, awake, listened to her gentle
snore and smiled. He’d forgotten it, or maybe
it had come while he was away. Restless,
he found himself restless, and wondering –
at home, in the bed he’d made, yet restless, restless.
How many nights had he longed to be just here
when sea-wracked or even caught in the arms
of a goddess. He rose, padded out to the palace garden.
The moon shone so bright the trees cast shadows.
Those saplings they’d planted when Telemachus was born,
towered over the walls. The sons he had not planted
would never be. Young, he’d thought a life could have
many voyages, but now he saw there was only one.
many voyages, but now he saw there was only one.