Only the dog recognized me when I came home.
Athena swears by the Styx that it was because
of the disguise she gave, but I know better
than to fall for one of her Goddess of Wisdom
mind-fucks. Even the gods forget who I am
sometimes. The wandering years I wear on my face
hide me better than any mask or shroud from Olympus.
When I wake up in the mornings and my body creaks
and groans louder than the old wooden bed,
I find it hard to believe that I was an equal to Ajax,
that my name once caused men to shudder in fear.
Penelope still says my name as a question:
Good Morning, Odysseus? I love you, Odysseus?
She is waiting for the day that I reveal myself
to be just another unwanted suitor
who has invaded her home. In the evenings
Penelope still watches the sea, waiting for her husband
to return. I await his arrival more eagerly than she.