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As we eat, in the dining room, Atthis prattles about her new parrot, mimicking it.
Her glances, charming, rounded, sensual, inconclusive, ask for love.
Her mimicry, spoken somewhat under her breath, takes in the townspeople, theatre folk, the Athenian star, Alcaeus, Gogu, the girls. But, because it is kindly and feminine, the fun carries far.
Her eyebrows have grown to meet over her nose and the fuzzy little bridge gives her added years. Her breasts are larger, shoulders fuller. She could be a priestess: the face solemn, the lips pert; then laughter ruins everything and she is simply girl, joyous life, asking for love.
Dressed in thin summer best, she pokes her neighbor with her sharp sandal and before I can say a word a scrap follows.
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As I went downstairs, I put my hand between the lion’s jaws, stubby, mossy stone, oldest part of the house. Lingering, I watched leaves puff down the steps. By the fountain, I absorbed water shadows, warmth around me, an insect swimming toward a spot of sun.
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A village girl brought me a bouquet of white roses, saying: