GRIEF Poem: Ganymede, by Cheyenne Jackson

One.
The Gods promised to make me holy before wrapping their fingers around my pretty little throat.
They devoured my
heart
like the ripest orange, grinning as red dripped down their chins, and I never felt more
alive.
So I proffered my lungs, my liver, watching their greedy mouths tear through my supple
flesh. I begged them to take more,
but they did not like the taste of my pulp and peel.
I crumpled
to my feet as they left me
gutted and bruised.

Two.
They say there’s an orchard in Athens filled with golden apples, granting immortality and
boundless love to those who eat one. I dragged myself to my small fishing boat, but it shattered
against the first swell, and I washed back up on Troy’s shore
empty
empty.
and alone.
I tried filling the gaping holes with the sweetest fruit I could find, but it was not enough –
I cried, begging; please plant a seed,
it doesn’t have to be golden.
Honeydew
Elderberry
Lemon
even Pomegranates will do
So I can at least pretend that there is something left of me.

Three.
I can’t go home anymore. It makes Mama cry. She said I am like a ghost who has forgotten how
to pass through walls. “Little Ganymede, why did you let them take your heart?”
Oh mother – have you not seen me?
I am a dumb animal with liquid brown eyes.
A cord of rope dangles from my neck, and I gaze at the sky
wanting, craving, like all boys do.
Dancing in fields sweetened by wildflowers, grass tickling my ankles –
I dare to dream.
At the edge of my vision, the forest looms.
Wolves slink between the thickets, white teeth grinning.
But I turn to face the sun instead and wait for someone to tug me along.

Zero.
I am twelve years old. Mama’s cooking wafts through the open cottage windows,
smelling of something sweet and tangy. I can hear her putter around the kitchen, scraping clay
bowls while humming over a bubbling stew.
Outside, I splay across a warm rock, chewing on a piece of wheat while our flock of
sheep bleat lazily. Feeling sun drunk and drowsy, I close my eyes, soaking in the life around me.
The hum of cicadas, the gentle breeze tugging through the grass.
I am surrounded by it.
A sudden shiver runs across my spine. I peak one eye open, spotting a large eagle soaring
just below the clouds. It drifts on unseen currents, flying lower and lower.
I sit up on my forearms, blond hair tickling past my cheeks. I track the bird, making sure
it doesn’t dive for the lambs. But it doesn’t even spare a glance towards them, instead circling
around me.
Once, twice.
I grin.
The Gods are watching me.

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Author: poetryfest

Submit your Poetry to the Festival. Three Options: 1) To post. 2) To have performed by an actor 3) To be made into a film.

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