by Eric Barstad

1.

... his mother Aethra, ... informing him who his true father was, commanded him to take from thence the tokens that Aegeus had left, and sail to Athens ..., but he refused to take his journey by sea, though it was much the safer way.

Alone, Theseus imagines his mother, 
her chemise raised waist-high by the ocean’s 
stalwart finger – how, in love’s aftermath, silt
was a tegument that must have left a trail 
down the inside of her thigh: a portent
of his birth.
XXXXXXXBut now, from this cliff, the sea
seems frenetic; Theseus sees not open arms
but unwelcome, signs that say, Hit
the road.

When Corynetes (“club-bearer”) 
blocks his path, Theseus grins
hate, steals the weapon, and beats death
in bruises down the other man’s back. 

The club he keeps as a killer’s trophy, 
like fingernails or a lock of hair.

2. 

Sinis, a thief and bender of trees,
pine sap on his palms. In this story, 
the fight’s not worth describing
but for the end: Theseus tying Sinis’s 
wrists to one bowed pine, his ankles 
to another: trees straightening, the sound 
of tearing sinew.

As if that weren’t enough, Theseus 
woos Sinis’s daughter, splits her
in a different way. She sprouts a son, and he 
(years later) breeds a litter of peaceful 
green children, huggers of trees.

3.

The Crommyonian sow, which they called Phaea, was a savage and formidable wild beast, by no means an enemy to be despised. ... Others relate that Phaea was a woman.

Because eating is noble and bacon is good, 
he chases Phaea, Sow of Crommyon,
with a lust for salted meat.

But in the silence of the kill’s completion, 
the first fissures appear: those riffs in language
like rent flesh; how creophagy

changes shape and remoulds the tongue’s
desire. How do we reconcile that other 
taste; how suture our disconsolate hunger?

4.

Sciron was accustomed, out of insolence and wantonness, to stretch forth his feet to strangers commanding them to wash them, and then while they did it, with a kick, sent them down the rock into the sea.

On a fifth-century BC kylix, Sciron
pleads for his life, already
falling, the giant turtle waiting below.

If this cup were half-filled with water, 
the effect would be marvellous: the turtle
submerged, Sciron himself beginning 

to sink, and Theseus standing on the cliff, 
his right leg raised, his feet newly clean, 
his arms lifted in celebration.

5.

Fighting those ready for a fight
is always the hardest, thinks Theseus, staring
at Cercyon, this André-the-Giant of a man 
who’s come dressed in lion-skin
and is missing no teeth.

What we don’t see: half-nelson, full-
nelson, lariat, a cover, a two-count, repeat. Off
the ropes, over the ropes, bound and gagged
with ropes, steel chair. Steel chair.

What we do: Theseus with Cercyon high
over his head, bloodied and bedraggled, beaten.
Theseus with Cercyon high over his head,
dashing him down and jagged on rocks.

6.

In Procrustes’ B&B severed feet are doily-topped 
and tied with crimped ribbon; the one bed 
has a crimson quilt and teeth placed like mints 
on the fluffed pillows.
XXXXXXXStill, Theseus signs in 
(though not his real name) and sizes up his bed
for sleep. Procrustes – ever mindful of his guest’s 
comfort – comes to tuck Theseus in
with an axe and a rack made for stretching.

Now, it’s not clear how Procrustes ends up
in the bed, his feet dangling over the baseboard, 
Theseus with the axe and a tape measure. 
After an initial intestinal shriek, Procrustes passes out, 
and Theseus (not even done with the left leg) 
pulls a blanket to the floor and goes to sleep.

Eric Barstad teaches English and Creative Writing at Augustana University College in Camrose, Alberta. His work has been published, or is forthcoming, in The Amethyst Review, The Antigonish Review, Event, Grain, The Malahat Review, Other Voices, Pottersfield Portfolio, Prairie Fire, Wascana Review, and Zygote.