by Emma Paris
Blisters swell under golden plates.
As he crosses the river, the fish rise
and tremble silver scales parting
the way for his warpath. He is
the lamb split open upon the
tall pyre. Slit from the throat,
trails of blood slithering like
snakes up from Hades. The
sweet floral smell of his lover
still lingers in the warm helmet.
Gods O’ Water, allow me to careen
like a rabid creature until I lay
waste or rest. A sour possession
has gripped him, a tremendous
grief. He may stomach the body
of Hector as he drags it through
the ruins and burial grounds,
but know his mind is filled with
the pink darkness of meadow eves
and spans of back hands rested
on, in deep slumber. Cradled by
night, rolling in rivers together,
avenging any mortal slight. Tears
water the battlefield, encouraging
new growth, at last. The ships are
finally abandoned. The horses left
in pastures of milky buttercups.
Tragic babes will sing the hymns
for years to come–to go to war
wearing your lover’s name
as armor.
About the Author:
Emma Paris (she/her) the 2025 Vermont Youth Poet Laureate, and an undergrad at Bennington College, where she studies Poetry and Environmental Science. She has an American Voices Nomination from Scholastic Art & Writing Awards, is a 2025 Adroit Commended Writer, and has been nominated this year for the Pushcart Prize. Emma has interned at both Green Writers Press, and the Bennington Review, working as an editor and reader. Keep up with her on instagram at @vt_youth_poet_laureate_2025