Learn More

Ann Stanford

(1916 - 1987 / California / United States)

Andromeda


I am terrified
marooned on a rock with a gale
freshening and the waves already
spatter me with spindrift.

What could my father be thinking of!
Listening to a two-faced oracle,
chaining me like a dog in this gnashing water.
It is low tide now - high tide will be the end of me.

I will either drown struggling against water
or be caught here by the monster from the sea
the claws searing me along the bone
the teeth quick cutting through flesh and nerve.

It is grim being a sacrifice.
The garlands, the watching crowds, cannot make me heroic.
My legs tremble and fire streaks across my brain
the roots of my hair are daggers.

If this were a story there would be a hero
to swim through the impossible waves, a sword at his belt.
He would cast off my chains, kill the monster,
take me
out of this country mad with fear and riddles.

But all I am sure of is the explosion of waves,
my mother crying from the shore, the seething
wings
of a large invisible bird circling the rock,
and the head of the monster coming up over the horizon.

Submitted: Thursday, September 04, 2014
Edited: Thursday, September 04, 2014

Do you like this poem?
1 person liked.
0 person did not like.

Read this poem in other languages

This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.

I would like to translate this poem »

word flags

What do you think this poem is about?

Comments about this poem (Andromeda by Ann Stanford )

Enter the verification code :

There is no comment submitted by members..

Trending Poets

Trending Poems

  1. Stopping by Woods on a Snowy Evening, Robert Frost
  2. I Heard the Bells on Christmas Day, Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
  3. If You Forget Me, Pablo Neruda
  4. Daffodils, William Wordsworth
  5. The Road Not Taken, Robert Frost
  6. A Child's Christmas in Wales, Dylan Thomas
  7. No Man Is An Island, John Donne
  8. Over-Ripe Sushi, Yosa Buson
  9. Christmas Spirit, Paul Moosberg
  10. Fire and Ice, Robert Frost

Poem of the Day

poet Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

I heard the bells on Christmas day
Their old familiar carols play,
And wild and sweet the words repeat
Of peace on earth, good will to men.

...... Read complete »

   
[Hata Bildir]