HESIONE*

HESIONE* Shut in her room with the scent of roses pounded with wet stones picked one by one from the riverbank and shining still, Hesione struggled to remove the clasps which she placed on a piece of cloth weaved by her grandma. Days later she lay in bed wrapped in a sacred vestment. Secret hopes torpedoed her body and for a moment removed the clasps from the groin. All worthless. People were buried nearby. The freshly-dug graves smelled of tamarisks. She and the Thoans scanned the sea. Nothing reminded one of who she was and why she mourned. She forgot all about Hercules, thurifications and joys never to be. Now all worthless. POEM FORM THE COLLECTION SALUADER BY MARIA PANOUTSOU TRANSLATED IN ENGLISH BY GIANNIS GOUMAS

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