BY RAPHAEL SCHMIEDER-GROPEN
STUDENT AT MCGILL FACULTY OF LAW
Parole papers stamped
with pomegranate ink, shades
pass into the world above
and know it is not their own
but its unfamiliar child,
Everything here is new and bright.
Steel temples to washed-up gods
stab at Olympus, square-columned;
Ixion blinks wheels
of fire from ashy eyelids. Salmoneus
thinks those gleaming blurs must be
horseless chariots or thunderbolts.
Sisyphus’ hands fly out on instinct,
brace against a phantom boulder.
He paces and sweats like a smoker
quitting cold turkey and looks for
something to do with his hands.