“Mama, dear, it’s good to see you! How I miss you!”
I tried to hide my pleasure but my heart sang and I held her close, my body remembering hers, fingers slipping around the back of her neck, staying in her hair.
Pushing me aside, she exclaimed:
“Mama, let’s go to your house and be together, like old times. Shall we?”
How easy to consent—and we walked home, arms around each other, gulls over us, shadows skimming roofs, dusty cobbles asking for rain: I wanted to remember her chatter, each inflection...
I would see Alcaeus tomorrow. I needed time with my own...
Pittakos stoned...Aesop stoned...the mob’s disgrace...
Year after year, is there greater calumny than our own communal perfidy? Is there greater stupidity? One man starts it, then five, then ten, manacled together.
For our island’s sake, I’m glad I cheated death.
Like old times, we sat at our looms and Kleis showed me a periwinkle design, whispering confidences, saying he was good, saying the house was good, the sea...she put her faith on the loom, the thread of it going beyond life. Mother must have heard me say such things, reflecting the same hope. Finches gathered in the olive trees as we worked. I asked time to stop and let us have the day last, at least longer than evening and the shepherd’s bells.