Helen of Troy, we note, was not blond
but blond tinged with red —
hair the color of flame.
She was beauty and necessity,
the woman every man yearned to keep,
for she burned passion in their hearts
and whispered forbidden knowledge to their eyes.

It is hard to touch a woman
whose mother is nemesis,
but even I cannot deny your beauty,
and even though you are not
the fabled Helen of Troy,
who with one glance stayed the executioner's hand,
I cannot help but feel in your presence
awkward, childish, forgotten beside myself,
standing on a plain of bodies and stones,
my sandals tattered and torn,
my tunic, flowing with the wind.