And did he make a better journey?
He set out from an island; to an island he goes,
like I do,
with the curious monsters, the feasts and the thirst,
with the great war behind us and all the lies,
the passing illnesses, and the redundant routes.
And did he find a safer shelter?
I was protected too, from rain and sun,
I was given the good bread and the nice cup
and a magical woman to stay with me.
With her tarot cards and her restlessness,
her enchanted feathers and purple flowers,
she foretold my elusive future.
She did not even try to keep me there.
And did my desires not take animal form?
Deer, eels, frogs and insane birds,
mongooses and a wild boar, right after I hurt my foot
- if I were him, I’d tell the same lie,
that I got injured hunting a boar:
here is my scar, here is my limp to show.
And were my dreams not granted a passage?
Visitors came to my sleep all night long
and then appeared in phone calls and emails.
An underworld that made me listen to the blood,
forgotten love and lost connections,
the honey and the grain
that helped me see, and let myself be found.
I even found a dog who won’t forget me
a young dog, a hunter;
we walked together in the forests and the lakes.
So I can come back, many years later,
and prove that I, too, have been
a guest on this island.
But I must weave the story myself
no matter how far or how well,
when he got to be sung by all the voices.
Odysseus. At least I can undo it
as many days and nights I like
without waiting for my hero to appear.
Odysseus. How we abandon ourselves
to waves, to salty fairy-tales.