the fossil record
<<12>>
The Hero
His birth attended by
oracles,
he ends up in a reed
basket,
swaddled in the
infant's jar-like body.
His mother launches
him.
If the river's a
ribbon he's found later,
his surrogate parents
happier
than they were before.
If the sea is full of
whitecaps, sirens,
milfoil, or chop, he
drowns,
only to become a snake
in orange mud, a changeling.
He wanders into the
hinterlands
against the wishes of
his false parents
to seek out his
father.
He'll lie, murder,
do whatever is
necessary
to make a proper end
of the story,
the one we carry deep
in our bones.
It's a wonder we
don't recognize
him before the amulet,
badge, purple
heart has been nailed
to his chest.
Christ, Mohammed,
Moses---so many names
they make us dizzy. We dress, celebrate,
fete this makeshift
god who thrives
on our need for a hero
so good
he got to be bad.
Judith Skillman