“Nobody”, Jack Xi
In prayer, laughter, the way
Their women dress and greet.
— “Ulysses by the Merlion” (1979), Edwin Thumboo
He arrived delirious, clinging to a black goat — hooting
about nymphs. Scylla, Circe, GDP. “Topless
towers”, brayed he. “Where is the lion of the sea?”
We lifted him, trudged through the stilt-roots, girding
our skirts. Told the gathering children
how his loose teeth showed his lack of Vitamin C.
The greeters put on their cloth and ornaments: gold,
silk, Tyrian dye, plucked from Roman boats we’d sunk.
They plied him as he woke. Calabai, calalai,
oroane, makkunrai. All with hidden daggers veiled.
they gave him a vintage, asked for his tale. He spoke
of Troy’s sacking, his women slaves, his men; how we
must be some island of the dead. “Far beyond the west
sailed I,” he said. “Beyond Zeus’ google.”
The mapmaker, from behind him, shook her head.
Sleep took hold then, and he faceplanted
into the mutton we’d made of his goat.
You might ask what came next, what loving aid we gave:
what ship, what map, what astrolabe —
we punted him into the strait.