Come Out, Erato!
When I was a child,
you chose me.
You woke me in the darkest nights
to listen; in storms you led me to watch
trees dance and waves toil; you
pulled me from bed in the silence
before daybreak for birds’ greetings.
But what have you made me do
Erato, Eratus, Eratum!
There, I’ve conjugated you,
Eratalgia – you’re a pain,
Eratosis – you’re a neurosis,
ad feminan Eratorium – you make
illogical excuses based on,
based on ...
Where was I?
Oh yes - what’s up with you?
Your whispers are ineffective
your demands common,
you’re easily deterred.
You've stopped wheedling me just because
I’m older. Coward!
What? How can you be tired?
You say you’re getting older, too?
Impossible. You’re immortal.
You say it’s all relative?
Well, Sister, get off your duff,
we’re going to lie down in a meadow
where bees buzz and flowers wink,
and watch clouds gather.
We’ll be young again.