By Charlotte Mandel
Greek archaeologists find couple locked in millennia-old hug
Why disturb bones that lay in close embrace
six thousand years? Age twenty when they died,
strong limbs entwined, glow of youth in each face.
Might this have been a double suicide?
Intense passion blocked by society,
choosing hemlock that she may be his bride.
Or did some cataclysmic irony
befall them as they kissed—a volcano's
hiss and roar, as in Pompeii, a fiery
mass, or an earthquake avalanche of loam?
Were they aware of oncoming burial
or orgasmic peace in sudden catacomb?
Did they live their lives in material
comfort—not likely for they wore no gold.
Diggers uncovered no sartorial
clues, no Neolithic hoes, stone axe, household
chisels, pots. Remains hidden in a cave
suggest secrecy, illicit love, not told
to anyone in the village but saved
within pulsing vessels feeding the heart.
Did they long for afterlife, to engrave
their souls as each other's, love's martyrs?
Blanket these bones, let them not be parted.
Categories: Featured Poems from Our Subscribers