Walking on Ithaca 2017/ Penelope’s Sea



She begins, like the waves

lapping in and out

struggling to leave the bay

pushing and fighting

until she releases

and the waves pull her far away

far beyond to where

there is only silence

no screaming voices

no egos needing to call and shout

no voices of the past

or omens of the future

no one else about

she is not waiting for him:


or God.


Floating she is strangely absent from herself

but never more at home


The waves have fallen silent

She is no longer waiting

For a boat to arrive on stormy seas

Announcing an end to her bereavement

the answers from the Gods


She gives up looking for answers to the unanswerable

She gives up asking questions


She returns to the shore

softens her gaze out to the sea

the colour of the Adonis butterfly;

“no it is not “wine dark” to me”;

she will not live now in another’s metaphor


she breaths deeply

hearing the whispering waves

crying “live your life”

in this moment

give up waiting with expectation


Gold heat shimmers on salty skin

as she dries her body on the shore

a body that will wither and fade away

or even go out screaming


But this sea will roll out and in

whispering and roaring;

all will end and begin again

when her body is no more.













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