Free More for Helen of Troy by Simon Mundy Page A

silken enough to fit
    The official picture but it was nothing
    I could prove – just a distant
    Parting of the air that carried hope.
    No woman I have touched is worth my life
    No goddess needs it
    But she is not for touching
    And the years will leave her
    Warm when I am mud.

    IX
    Menelaus Reports
    That first night together again
    When all that had happened in between
    Came down on our tongues like kitchen weights,
    We couldn’t decide where to put our hands,
    Whether to flutter them, trapped birds of apology,
    Or hold, trace a line of memory.
    How could you be the same?
    Life’s wars produce their little changes,
    Damp patches on your fresco,
    So desire was not the old desire,
    Fraught with possession, pushed
    To the limits of your acceptance,
    But the slow joy of visiting
    A half-remembered clearing in the woods
    And finding wild strawberries
    Growing there, beneath a fallen oak
    Just as they always did.

    X
    Valediction
    There have been and will be
    Many powerful queens and women
    Who drive boys to war,
    Girls of every land will suffer
    The terrors of your life,
    The intrusion of strangers
    Deep in the guts, the abiding hurt
    No kindness can assuage,
    But none will claim such beauty
    That the gods become
    As bellicose as men.

Mermaid
    This rock, this divan of stone
    Is too jagged for your tail, tearing
    Young scales, the salt of sea and tears
    Searing raw skin as you preen and comb,
    Holding the pose for shipsful of men
    Who pass in the morning.
    What else can you do?
    Hide in the cold northern waters that sparkle
    On the surface but hold poisons that pock
    Your fins with dirty sores.
    Or you could hitch on board those ships,
    Shed the tail, rejoice in legs and bush,
    Bask on the warm sands of love
    Before the mortal tides creep in
    Across the disappointing strand.
    No. Keep amphibious. Immortal
    Beauty is worth a little weeping.

An Incident of War
    Beyond midnight curfewed hands sought sanctuary
    In the crypts of bodies primed for implosion.
    The car rocked, imitating the breath of the distant sea
    In obedience to the moonlight over the street,
    Empty save for the free contentment of intent lovers
    Caught by the watching sky full of rigid wings.
    Besieged families had been left to the ruins, the fundamentals
    Of their bickering, the petty caveats and forbiddings,
    The creeds of good behaviour in atrocious times.
    Across the world no caress went unnoticed,
    No kiss born again without approval;
    On this alone the invading and parental tribes agreed.
    Such bush fires had to be snuffed out.
    Whose was the cry of victory? Whose
    Red line finding whose spot? Whose moral
    Mountain? Whose transit of Venus?
    Whose perpetual dust?

Four Lyrics
    I
    Water cannot be compressed
    But in that uncontrite volume
    More elements can lie dissolved
    Than in any self-admiring wine.
    The surface is shield and invitation
    To this high lake beneath the fragile mountain top
    (Cracked by erosion but proud summit nonetheless)
    Abandoned by its glacier,
    Rarely fed but often raided.

    II
    I kiss to be expelled,
    Withdraw to draw the sortie.
    It is a feint
    For you rest,
    Stare out calmly,
    A fortified inch from my hand,
    Secure in your decision that I will be
    Tolerated but never pampered,
    Indulged in anger or desire.

    III
    Impregnable
    Like the old forts on tall hills
    That defied all the assaults of Italy,
    The Imperial ambitions
    The promises of comfort and alliance.
    Such formidable defences,
    Rampart after rampart,
    Vicious pointed stakes lining every ditch and gully,
    A taunt of arrows, stones and
    Fire for the unwanted visitor.
    But time is for biding
    The stone’s throw to the river a mile too far
    When the besieger is camped on the bank.
    Seldom did the warrior’s heart let her believe
    The lesson from all the other forts.
    That swift surrender was the only certain way
    To forestall the sky from falling on her head.

    IV
    I open to you like flowers straining for the sun.
    Swish. There.
    Beheaded with one swipe
    Barely