Odyssey

She dreams in shades of the Aegean

of sand and stone

of the wind beckoning 'Koritismou' through

the leaves of the olive trees-

saplings in the time of Zeus

now stretching out their ancient arms to her

She feels the yellow-orange kiss of

the Mediterranean sun upon her cheek

and hears the mingled, pastoral sounds

of goats' bells and church bells drifting down the mountains

the strange and beautiful melody

quickening her heart

She remembers scholars and philosophers,

heroes, poets great and small

an ancestry, an history as foreign to her

yet as familiar as her own hand -

pondering the lines found there, her tapered fingers

the weight of Atlas descends upon her shoulder

her reality like a tyrant comes

tormenting her, breaking the spell of her repose

the island as removed from her

as she from the stars

she gazes upon.