Poetry

By Terence Kuch

Solon in Egypt

“You Greeks!” he said,

genealogy still wet on my lips,

all sixteen generations back

and then a god.

 

Contempt and worse,

indulgence:

“Come with me,” he said.

Down temple-steps, in tunnels

I stumbled on and just when

hard breathing came back late

he lit a torch. I saw

a cave, rows of dead men

wrapped in cloth

                          We walked,

he named them each

and then a sharp-stoned wall

with nothing left but all of earth.

 

“One hundred forty fathers’ sons,”

he said,

“and still no god.”

The Day We Lost

The day we lost at Leuctra

we shame-dragged home

 

cold Lysander

(thank the gods!)

his burning eyes

 

turned away

On Delos

One said,

 

Apollo was not born here

on Delos,

but somewhere else.

 

We must make sure

one says this no more:

 

Loud gold-giving pilgrims may hear,

 

bright Apollo’s shrine

 

dim

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Terence Kuch is a consultant, avid hiker, and world traveler. His poetry credits include Commonweal, Diagram, New York Magazine, Poetry Motel, Slant, Thema, Timber Creek Review, and Yellow Mama. He has read at the Renwick Gallery of the National Museum of American Art, the International Monetary Fund Visitors’ Center, the MAC (McKinney Avenue Contemporary) Theatre in Dallas, and elsewhere.