Wednesday, April 16th, 2014
For today’s prompt, write an elegy.
Callimachi Manes et Coi sacra Philetae,
in vestrum, quaeso, me sinite ire nemus.
Caliban Dies Alone
Deserted in old age
by those who mastered him
with torture and disdain,
he lies in his strait bed.
And remembers.
An island all his own
full of beauty and promise,
fruits bright and sweet,
shellfish and seagrass.
And a mother’s love.
Smashed up forever
by storm that brought flotsam
people with agile magic
who turned him to Other.
And ravaged his life.
I would tend to Caliban,
wipe the fever from his face,
gently take his hand in mine
to kiss the soil and calluses.
And whisper a lie—“I am Sycorax.”
Gammelor Goodenow
Tags: #Caliban, #colonialism, #elegy, #poem-a-day #poetry month, #racism, #slavery, #Sycorax