thera

by Matthew Stokdyk

for a red-haired grey-eyed anarchist in Philadelphia who studied the demise of Minoan civilization after the Thera eruption

to sleep in asphodel, like Minos, king
below (and dream of little deaths?), o’erthrown
by fire—the anarchy the lava brings,
that spills upon the shoulders, through my phone—
the labyrinth of words within, that fail
because a clumsy tongue is trapped in stone—
a grave (that death again!), in cooler shale,
the shade of icy eyes—a winter tone,
a biting grey, like wit—that pierces, and speaks
with one (as I) so bad with words (iron-
ic, yes, I know)—which climb the mountain peak,
and do attend, and wait for rosy dawn—
to sleep, to speak, to burn (and hope to die)—
and there, beneath the ash, forever lie.

Originally published on Instagram on April 3rd, 2019, as part of a poem-a-day project I did for National Poetry Month. A fragmentary sonnet.