My love, how was I to know
that they would make a myth of us?
Did we not die? Are we not dead?
Are your bones not my bones?

Before the war.
Before we had to
kiss Troy out of each other’s
teeth, we were a paradise.
You were the only one I kneeled
before.
You made the warrior in me tired.

They write about your death.
How I sliced through countless
men trying to build a
monument to the monster
I was after your body
blazed before me.

I can tell you now that
I begged for the arrow.
Welcomed it.
My last wish was to
sleep beside you in our tent.
To hide you so well in the afterlife
that no God could take you
from me again.

My quiet love was yours from the
beginning.
I call my ankles by your name.
When mother dipped me in the river, she was introducing us.

—  Caitlyn Siehl, Achilles to Patroclus