As part of some rumination with a group of satyrs, maenads, and other fascinating folk calling themselves the Bacchic Underground, we were tasked with making art from Dionysian themes. This week’s homework assignment was to contemplate an ancient story about Dionysos and some pirates. Following is my attempt at rambling poetry:
The ship has sailed, I tell you.
It’s been headed toward the Deep since that strange night
when we picked up the boy on the island.
No mere boy it was. But at the time,
only one of us was paying attention.
He got to leave the ship intact.
Since then, we’ve followed:
swimming circles in the wine-dark water
Maybe it is wine? Or maybe blood?
No matter now. We keep swimming,
because if we stop we sink down
to where the faceless things live,
nine days past Hades’ rusted gates
to the place the island-boy called home.
They tried chaining him there, too.
Who chains a loosener?
Lucky for us, he has use for fools.