Why do the men always wander,
Why do women have to stay at home,
Why is every story a journey?
When will it end-
With Circe, or between a rock and a hard place?
Will I feast with Dido,
Or die, as she?
You have to be the leading lady,
Of your own life,
But sometimes I just feel like the heroine.
Sometimes I want Odyseus to find me
Or the prince to come and kiss me
Sometimes it’s so hard
To be a woman alone, traveling.
But traveling is just hard.
Somehow I’m dying of the comforts of stability,
I need the breeze in my hair, the sun at my cheek,
And o, to see the sails, billowing
Against a clear blue sky.
Just blue on blue,
Sky and sea.
I think that’s where I’d prefer to be.
So yes, Penelope will rise from the loom-
This time, she seeks,
Not just Odyseus, but adventure.
The perfect adventure of love,
The freedom of the road,
Seeking the treasure of her soul,
When she could have sat at home knitting.
Odysseus, he was foolish, he cursed himself to wander.
But you, Penelope, o you and I are,
we are the real wanderers,
The adventurers who keep the world whole.
And when he comes back, someday,
After Dido’s embrace,
Will you be gone, unforgiving,
or shall you find him,
to greet him as he is, wherever he might be,
Having known a life of your own?
Will he still love you,
When your hair smells like the sea,
When your face is tanned, and golden with the sun’s love,
Shall he be upset that you betrayed him,
For a god more powerful than him?
Penelope, he had wisdom,
But you have Adventure.