Helen Leaves Egypt by Mark J. Mitchell

She lived before the lighthouse rose. She loved
before the library—loved tall heroes—
A goddess dropped her here while men bled, moved
by beauty. The boat bobs up. She leaves home.

Leaning back, she drops the bow in water
to carve a path through reeds, sleek and sharp.
The fat man pilots. She knows he finds her
a threat, this lost god’s sinister daughter.
He’s a silent fish—heavy, numb, but smart.

East whispers in her olive-colored ear.
She hums its tune, glad to leave the small world
that slid past her tale, whose wars weren’t hers.
She drags long fingers, cool. Open seas near.
Sun bounces, blinding almond eyes. Breeze curls

around sails. Cosmas—pure ballast—wants fear
to eat, and to reach the end of the girl.