​The Daughters of Lycomedes Dream of Achilles, by Dana McCormick

Achilles among the Daughters of Lycomedes, by Pietro Paolini (Italy) 1625-30

​The Daughters of Lycomedes Dream of Achilles

Our children - Little Richard, Alan Turing, David Bowie, all 
the Sainted Girls Who Chose Gruesome Death Over a Husband, 
Natalie Wynn and the dancing sailors in every movie your grandparents
knew the songs to in high
waisted wide legged
​swaggering trousers, the Scarecrow and Tin Man
June Jordan and Kim Petras and Meredith Monk and bell hooks and JVN - 
and we
sing together as we slowly revolve, a floating waltz in the air above the sparkly stage 
in the deep space 
of sleep, 
we all dream of you,

Achilles,

specifically 
of your golden sandal left on the plain:
five smooth saucers worn in by each vital toe
each toe, known and beloved by Patroclus.

Strongly strapped,
bound around your ankle

Straps
nor shield 

- not the shield from the gods and more bitter, not
the shield you chose not
from manly bellicose attraction but because it exactly matched
perfectly complemented your beautiful red wrap, it’s lush fringes the same vivid beating red
the fringe that caressed like the wingtips of a waiting war bird
your sweet bare shoulder,
waiting to wake up the white feather of your headdress, 
you grasped a sword to balance the shining black shield to hold your place to keep 
your beauty your gown your sisters your sisterself
and with a sigh, unbound your glowing hair, carefully folded your red wrap
slipped out of your lush gown and said
goodbye
to your sisters, 
Daughter, the nursemaid cried, come back
and you thought you would. Keep my dresses ready
you said - not that shield either -

could save

your violent 
loving 
violence loving heart nor
your bursting tendon
blown out with rage for your lost beloved
your lost heart bursting, your
beloved tendon hooked, first 
by your mother and now 
by this arrow
your excellent foot just a mortal fish  

In your sandal

the tiniest crease under the ball of your right foot
caught one grain of sand, growing a tiny pearl of sweat salt
to lay on the tongue of Patroclus
when you buried him

Dana McCormick
​
Author's note: This poem also references the song "Hot Topic," by Le Tigre and the poem "A Kentucky of Mothers," by Dana Ward.
​
Dana McCormick is a writer, pianist, and composer in Wisconsin.