Tag Archives: Symposium Cups

Ann Taylor

Finally arrived in this company,
prepped for on-stage wit,
I ease out on my couch,
drape my new robe just-so,
accept my welcome kylix.
 
With two hands,
I tip it straight up,
high to my face,
take a deep draft,
pronouce on gods, the law,
women, war. They laugh.

As the aulos weaves
a wind-song, strings ring,
I refill to the brim,
raise my cup again.
They laugh the more.

My robe slides to the floor,
my sentences blend.
I spy Medusa,
painted inside my drink.
Through wine, she shimmers 
red to the surface – snake hair,
tongue lolling to her chin,
eyes stone, set on me.     

Across the room,
smirking Archynes lifts 
his cup with both hands,
straight at me. Ah!
Now I see blurry black eyes
staring back, his cup base
a gaping mouth, the big handles.
Dionysus donkey ears? 

I see now the all-night joke I’ve been,
a mockery of my besotted self.

Escaping, I trip on my robe,
hurl my cup at his. Miss. 
________________________________________________________________________
Ann Taylor is a Professor of English at Salem State University in Salem, Mass. where she teaches both literature and writing courses. She has written two books on college composition, academic and freelance essays, and a collection of personal essays,Watching Birds: Reflections on the Wing (Ragged Mountain/McGraw Hill). Her first poetry book, The River Within, won first prize in the 2011 Cathlamet Poetry competition at Ravenna Press. Her recent collection, Bound Each to Each, was published by Finishing Line Press in 2013.

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