Shortly afterward, Kleis was born, the dragonfly still there: how blurred, it seemed, and how the ocean faded and reappeared as I fought. I felt I would drown in sweat, drops pouring down my neck. Mama wiped my face and hands, her voice soothing, as she cooled me. I wasn’t afraid: no, a new happiness surged through me, even while my wrists were breaking and my knees afire. Even while the pain tore me, I was aware of this happiness: I was bringing life, defeating death, adding to our world. My heart sang, though sweat drenched me, and the dragonfly, clicking its green wings, seemed a ragged dot or great bird.
I was glad Cercolas wasn’t there: I tried to remember his love-making but all I could remember was pain and mother’s voice and the chatter of Exekias and the sound of the sea. When Kleis had come, I thought: my wrists are broken and my knees burn but I’m glad, glad...and mother kissed me and said: Go to sleep, darling.
When I woke, the top of the ocean had become pink and pink webbed the sky: it seemed I was staring through woven stuff, skeins in rows, with wool dropped and tumbled between: the pink darkened nearest the water and stars were visible—a sunset like many others and yet different because Kleis was here: this was her first sunset.
P
During exile, when Alcaeus and I had the same room and bed, he tried to make me feel our bad luck couldn’t last. He would roar against it. He might begin the bleakest day with a song.
“Hungry—let’s go beg!
“Thirsty—let’s find a fountain. There’s cool water in the shade of a carob.”
Our feet grew blistered. Days I lay on my mat, too sick to move, he brought me bread or a flower. Kneeling by me, smelling of the streets, he’d rub my hands...
“We’ll find a way.”
When we shared the big bed at Aesop’s, its sides painted with flowers, Alcaeus cheered, reminding me of our luck.