In the Center of the Sunlit City

But you, Athena, who never hunted the moonlit

forest of the savage heart, who stepped straight from Zeus’ head

onto your pedestal in the center

of the sunlit city, the heroic mind,

are less than all.

Tall among gods (though not most terrible),

cunning counselor, armored always for war

yet always woman, loving a man’s uniquest strength,

still, motherless, you mold no music.

Apollo does not sing of you among the gods

at their high feasting, nor of the Odysseus

who traced the waking will,

whom you loved, and I love.

I prop my weapons, my brazen armor at your feet.

Lead on your young man, testing their names

against the scales of destiny.

If I walk free now from your clash of war,

your owl does not loose his grip on my resonant hair.

I still honor you.