The Palimpsest of Bríga
My eldest sister claims I am the reason why Our mother died the day I came to life. She lives in childless hell, A barren castoff wife, Worse than the concubine Kept in her home. My eldest sister’s man, A violent drunken
Chronicles
homer
“If you think it’s about you, it probably is.”
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Athena of Cempsibriga
From a raft with torn sail, a man burned by sun, My father Arémori swam to our shore. Half dead and half naked he sprawled on the sand Where Bríga, my mother was walking that day. Her shout to the fishermen raised the al
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Odysseus in Cempsibriga
My journey has been long, and aided by The constellations we were taught to read As children destined to embark on ships Of wood whose planks were bent and sealed with tar. Poseidon’s wrath of waves that batter boats And