The Waiting, Ithaka

Coin of light: in her lap it falls, startling her thighs. Widowhood, her bones claim what lies deeply the nest of her dreams: leaning to the dark and her years, legs clamped, she rides sign after sign, what rises with her fears. Too late those high walls at Troy fall before the dawn. Nightlong favours she has none, but unravels her abandon, spun to ten long winters, a siege that has hardened the hills dropped bulls in their tracks broke the magic of this house. Nightlong favours she has none: strongholds of shadow depart, first blade of morning in the heart

History · Shakespeare, Adaptation, and Literary Criticism · Theatre and Performance Studies