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      September 3, 2013Xanthus, Achilles’ Immortal Warhorse …Corrie Williamson

      Ah, why did we give you…to a mortal,
      while you are deathless and ageless?
      Was it so you could share men’s pain?
      Nothing is more miserable than man
      of all that breathes and moves upon earth.
      —The Iliad, XVII, trans. Stanley Lombardo

      It was meant to be a gift, though the gods
      should know by now it never is: sick of it
      themselves, grown fidgety, restless, meddlesome.
      It was harder on me of course than Balius,
      him having never known speech while I tongue
      the narrow trough of my mouth and half
      expect words to return. Where he is now
      I don’t know. After a time, we gave up being
      untamable, and let ourselves be led, be put
      to whatever tasks men could imagine. They call
      this place Texas, hot enough for wandering
      souls, where all of time stretches before me
      as an endless tunnel of wind. The children wear
      strange hats and their boots point like nettles
      between fence boards. Men wish to be thrown, and,
      understanding, I toss them, light as milkweed,
      as burdock. But how tiring to make a living
      from this act of riddance: spur in the side and belly
      raw, summoning the body’s rage, a strap of leather
      and bone buckled and desperate for breaking.

      from #38 - Winter 2012

      Corrie Williamson

      “After college, I embarked on a trial career as an archaeologist. A year later, I gave it up to pursue my poetry MFA, but for me, the disciplines remain closely related. Poetry too is a process of excavation which I think at its best, for reader and writer, involves dirt and dust, gentle brush strokes, and the piecing together of something buried or broken that gets held up to the sun either to illuminate or expand the mystery.”