Alice O. Howell
The Father: Aegeus prays for Theseus
Like all fathers
I shall seat myself
upon the high cliffs of expectation
to watch the black sails of my hope and anguish
set forth to unknown transits
beyond my dreams and reaching -
bone and blood
son of my giving
sired in a time of promise
fruit of a night of needing
fair in my sight and sturdy
to hand you my all, my all
the trust of future days and other triumphs!
Here at cliff's edge
my power ends. Stops, drops
to the foaming depths
of such uncertainty
final, that last lifting of the rope
wet with the tears of the sea
the strong coiling spring of twine
that bound a past so happy and secure
is cast upon a scoop of prouder ship
rocking, but for now, in placid waters
.
A rough handshake
cold now in my empty palms
your golden shoulder turning
the brave shouts, danger daring
then you and the rest of them off to Crete
a sacrificial tithe
to the man-killer Minotaur
May the shield I offered be sufficient
may the sword you earned defend!
I have done all, without the gods, I could
but not enough.
You are forth where I will never walk
your feet will break those grasses
not yet grown until my death
the wine-dark sea will hold you like an angry mother
and I will climb again, weary
with the old bones of insufficient time
or wisdom
to sit upon the cliffs
of all the mornings not yet born
to wait and pray
secretly
without the pride of kings
to watch
until the sea returns you
until with triumph you may change
those sails of my dread, black,
of my helplessness
to white, my son,
O, my son, my son
to white!
a.o.howell