Bacchanalia

Garbed in green of leaf and gold of fox he is the god
Of raving laughter, a god’s son and father
Of gods and himself unable to put down
The crown that hides deep lines on the merry
Mask that is his face, serious in mind and soul
But assigned to watch over grapevines
Leaves that bind him, mark him, drain him
Juice that flows down his lips in scarlet currents
Pooling in his eyes, like goblets they collect
The sights and sounds of flesh on flesh
And sigh within as an oyster’s pearl sighs
That never sees daylight ‘round a maiden’s throat
Silver light bathes him and fire calls to him
A mirage of other things and places
Other songs and different leaves
Yet roots stretch deep and far and his are no exception
He holds to earth and earth to him
Through endless years and passing ages
He reaps those grapes, heavy scented
Purpled jewels, and he smiles and sings and drinks
While his mind seeks the image of roots
Decaying with laughter and dying like vinegared wine

[In elementary school, Alexandra Seidel had a wonderful teacher who introduced her to the twelve labors of Hercules. This was the first Greek myth Alexandra ever read, and more followed later during five years of Latin at school, all of which left a deep impression on her mind and sometimes on her writing. Alexandra’s prose and poetry has appeared or is forthcoming in Star*Line, Labyrinth Inhabitant Magazine, New Myths and others. Every once or twice, Alexandra blogs. She is never quite sure about what. Better go see for yourself.]

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