Penelope’s Tears

Odysseus’ journey to Ithaca was his lot to
Suffer as he remains adrift far from home,
Alone. His lovely wife, wise Penelope, 
Who enters like a goddess, stains her bed
With her own sorrow and weeps every night
Alone. I imagine fair Penelope’s anxiety
Wondering how Odysseus lived every day
Of the twenty years apart. The world is wide
And love is far away, and the well for her tears
Must be as deep as grief. Yesterday a 
Fresh spring of hot tears surprised me
In the hall full of people and though I have
No sheets to weep into they came easily.

They are lonely Penelope’s tears, longing
That reaches across oceans wondering 
How your day has been. We have been 
Kept apart by winds that drag your voice
Away from me. I am no weeping queen; 
You are not a drifting king. I will not cry
Myself to sleep, for then who will remain 
Clear-eyed to reunite in a dream or read the
Omens of your return. I will look for them, and
Wait for the day I can unlearn the loneliness 
I have nurtured to make the distance bearable.
Until then, my hands are empty as loyal
Penelope’s, forgotten the shape of air I used to
Hold before I have held yours. Even then, 

My heart knows you by a feeling, and 
It will never forget.