Eurylochus Maggie Madden ’24
Clumsy fingers Stumble over a simple task Remembering how my mother so deftly worked By a crackling fire After a familiar meal, a poor meal, but a familiar one nonetheless I can almost feel the warmth of the hearth But The low lamenting of other disgruntled soldiers Bellows through our briny chambers The smell - must and desperation - must have seeped into me now My coarse clothes My matted hair Even my scars - smooth, hard ridges - must reek of this life What has become of me? My father’s son One he prodded into war One he gifted our family sword One he believed in Has been reduced Deferring to a madman Suffering in silence My sword is my one true solace The familiar indents Made my sure fingers Not these bumbling fellows, tripping over such monotonous It’s speckless surface Memories preserved of days long past The comfort of a cloth wiping away my sins Even the clinging tang of the battlefield Anything would be better Than darning these reminders of a life worth living The Publication of the Arts
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