Spring 2006 • Vol. XXVIII No. 2 PoetryApril 1, 2006 |

Achilles’ Dream

adapted from The Iliad, Book XXIII   The soldiers ate, drank; and then exhausted, their foodmaking them yawn, they crowded into their tents,they slept;    but the son of Peleus,no, the son of Peleus didn't sleep:              if you'd been therewith a camera, if you'd taken his picture,a cruddy snapshot snapped in bad light,the flash giving his face the look of someone at a partywho holds a candle just under his chin,that's what you'd have seen:            eyes red,face drained white; a shape blurry and hugeas an All-Pro defensive end, a Big Daddy Lipscombcrying out his eyes in desolation.               The long, flat, clean-washed beach,where teenagers used to go surreptitiously to make out,that's where he lay—         blood from battlestill caked under his nails, his tight-chestedgroans sounding above the trough              of quiet as

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Tom Sleigh's most recent books include Far Side of the Earth; a translation of Euripides' Herakles; a book of essays, Interview With a Ghost; and Space Walk, winner of the 2008 Kingsley Tufts Award. His new book, Army Cats, was published this spring from Graywolf Press. He teaches in the MFA Program at Hunter College and lives in Brooklyn.

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adapted from The Iliad, Book XXIII   The soldiers ate, drank; and then exhausted, their foodmaking them yawn, they crowded into their tents,they slept;    but the son of Peleus,no, the son […]

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adapted from The Iliad, Book XXIII   The soldiers ate, drank; and then exhausted, their foodmaking them yawn, they crowded into their tents,they slept;    but the son of Peleus,no, the son […]

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