Sappho on the Rocks

By OKSANA MAKSYMCHUK

Your speech
tongue in cheek, like descriptions of cocktails
in this bar full of handsome strangers
who won’t meet my eye

Mesmerized
by your own voice, you speak
dangling pick-up lines like the glossy jewelry
we Hellenes use to con barbarians
into opening their cities to us

At my throat, like an arrowhead—
a venomous shot of Muse
quivering, thrilling to consume

Eros, I say, knows no bounds
doubts not
whether to draw—of the bowstring
when to loose—an arrow

Reaching for Sappho’s knee
you describe a chariot
yoked with sparrows

and it dawns on me:
this is Hades, Alcaeus

You smooth out my gown, place
your hand
over my mouth

On my face, like an animal—
a full beard, a bald spot under
my laurel crown

 

Oksana Maksymchuk is the author of poetry collections Xenia and Lovy in the Ukrainian. Her English-language poems have appeared in AGNI, The Irish Times, The Paris Review, The Poetry Review, and other journals. Her debut English-language poetry collection, Still City, is forthcoming with Carcanet Press in 2024.

[Purchase Issue 27 here.]

Sappho on the Rocks

Related Posts

Blue cover of There is Still Singing in the Afterlife

Four Poems by JinJin Xu

JINJIN XU
my mother, my father. / Her skinny blue wrists, his ear caressing a cigarette. In the beginning, / it is already too late, but there is hunger & no time / to waste. All they need are six hands, three mouths, a clockwork / yearning for locks of their own, windows square & fresh.

black and white photo of a slim man's body, arm outstretched from the bbody

LitFest 2025 Excerpts: Video Poems by Paisley Rekdal

PAISLEY REKDAL
On the seventh day / of the seventh month, magpies / bridge in a cluster of black and white // the Sky King crosses to meet his Queen, time tracked / by the close-knit wheeling / of stars. I watch. You come // to me tonight, drunk on wine / and cards, nails ridged black / with opium

Mantra 5

KRIKOR BELEDIAN
from channel to channel / the lengthening beauty of shadows that float and bow down / and suck at the stones and planks / of the damp, bitter fog / of loneliness, / stone horses let loose their golden neighs / and the waters transform to / stained glass