It was Anna

By Ayelet Wenger


It was Anna, in the end.

I sailed beyond the edges of verse

for a man

pious as a pyre

The Man Killed

The Man Who Killed Him

The Man Who Killed Me

(they killed me)

The Arms of a Man they will sing

(it was Anna’s arms holding me in the end)

Men who came under my walls like a horse 

burst in the night

who made me your Helen

made me

and left.

It wasn’t meant to be. 

What fate gave.

Anna. Sister. 

what she took.

be my shadow

don’t leave me here alone

blissful, too blissful, if he had not come.

Your arms were not made for this.

I could have gone to the stars.

I could have raged hexameters in their pages

And schoolchildren would recite my dying words

To the tune of pencil sharpeners

If he had not come.

We will die unavenged

We will die



William Roberts

The Return of Ulysses  


Chalk and watercolour on paper 

Frame dimensions: 472 x 623 x 28 mm

Tate: T00878