Even before you were made a man

They called you a beast.

Savage and brutish, the other.

Gnarled hands like the cedar trunk

A fierce gaze to rival two-thirds of a god.

How, then, did you see it?

Did it come in visions of hellfire?

Did it come as great gusts of frost?

Did it come under the weight of a vast sea?

How?

How did you see it and yet live?

How did you see it and yet tell others

 

“Live”?

 

What courage filled those twin hearts?

 

On your bed did you yet lay knowing?

 

Did you know the day?

 

The year, the season, the minute or the second?

 

Did you know they would weep?

 

The tears that would fall from every creature?

 

From Ula and the Euphrates?

 

From Eridu and Shamhat?

 

From your dearest friend?

 

I pray to take only an ounce of your courage

 

Some infinitesimal droplet of that brave determination.

 

If it took you twelve days,

I pray I might manage even one.