Pallas Athene

Words by Caroline McGrail

Pallas Athene, 1898 by Gustav Klimt

From my father’s head, born.

Mum said,

having you was your dad’s idea.

She thought she could fly, my mum,

but it was a trick and he swallowed her whole.

I had a Tonka truck and trainers and dungarees.

My baby baldness made the unacquainted ask, how old is he?

I’ve lived my life that way - as neither,

and as both.

When primal instinct raised its Gorgon head,

told me - be afeard,

they shut me up and made me slay the beast.

Logos ruled in our house

though my solar plexus screamed.

I’ve worn the suits of men

And moved along their halls.

Ruthlessness and resolute -

strategic.

That was how I made my way,

pragmatist and noble leader of many,

all feelings aside.

And lists have aided me:

Mental lists, shopping lists,

Lists on fridges, on phones and walls.

Planning kept me safe,

charting passage through each day.

Alarms and bells and chimes and charts.

Plotting.

Always plotting the direction of my sail.

There was a time I craved the fight.

Now I diplomatise.

I watch myself and wait - I hold a thought

and my tongue.

Honour myself and stand between the warriors,

taking no sides.

I have become more wise.

I walk at night and hear the Tawny Owl,

see the glow-worm LED green:

the fleeting serpent at my feet.

I see the oak-leaf-man pass on his holly crown.

Spear, serpent, wicker dome.

My temple offerings and water bowl.

Aphrodite sister petal rose.

Oceanus grandmama water-cold.

My couch a lioness - arm an owl.

You think too much, they said.

No woman can.