I’m doing so well. I offered you to Charybdis in exchange for my sanity. Scylla too, at first, but she seemed too great an evil and I’m over it, I promise. I’d rather watch you disappear into the maelstrom of my memory than have to pick six pieces of your body from the crags in my head.
I’m doing so well. I warned you of the Lotus Eaters and took ten deep breaths when you peeked inside the bag of winds and blew our love astray. I told a blind Polyphemus you were sorry for his loss. He said Nobody is sorry, and I knew that he was right.
I’m doing so well. I amble through Phoenicia on sidewalks that remember all the stories you told. I bump into Nausikaa. She asks if I am Circe, and I tell her my name. She drops her gaze to the pavement before admitting that you never mentioned me.
I’m doing so well. I don’t spite the olives that dare to grow without our bodies entwined beneath them. And I don’t mind when Antinous calls me ahead, begging me to finish our shroud - to leave the loom, and us, behind.
I’m doing so well. I buried all my anger in Kalypso’s wet sand And as it followed you out to sea with the tide she came up and commiserated; You left her once, too.