Caryatid
by Clayton Michaels

It would be different,

                               of course—

 

                               if my path were

lined with votive statues. Supplicatory

 

offerings buried at their feet:

leather purses filled with coins,

 

jewel-encrusted amulets,

spearheads. Scraps of papyrus

 

asking the gods for some

small kindness.

 

                               If I were all

marble and black limestone.

 

a sanctuary for the artifacts

the people hold most holy:

 

wooden effigies not carved

by human hands, saltwater wells,

 

olive trees, burial places of

mythical kings.

 

                               If you were

worthy of enshrinement

 

in a noble-gas filled glass

chamber alongside

 

the rest

 

              of the caryatides.

 

CLAYTON MICHAELS is a teacher, musician, poet, and all-around malcontent. His poems have appeared, or soon will, in Slipstream, Nerve Cowboy, Oak Bend Review, Makeout Creek, and The Chiron Review. He currently teaches first-year writing and comic book related courses at Indiana University South Bend.

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