Lucy Dale

Leda Against the Swan

Leda, hike up your dominant leg
and push your foot into the ground
of the Earth that swore to protect
you. Launch, Leda, launch
the creature that pins you down.
Man, swan, or something in between–
the weight is the same
when it spreads your legs
with its feathered tail, whispering–
you are not worth asking.
Leda, don’t you know,
Zeus can disguise himself again
and again because once you are marked,
it doesn’t mean you are immune,
Leda, today he is a swan, but tomorrow,
a man painted with scruff
to hide the clues, the flags, waving
like wings more powerful than you,
Leda. Defend, just like you learned
to do in a warm basement
lined up with women who, like you,
don’t want to be labeled a victim.
Even when your scars–because there will
be scars–set in bronze, Leda, drive
your heel down. Snap the swan’s wings–
fly like Icarus, but outwit the sun.