Hyacinthus (or,
I Wonder)

I wonder

What did Hyacinthus think

Of his godly friends

(Lovers)

(Friends)

How did he consider them?

​

Bright Apollo of the lyre

Of the bow

Of the day

​

Gentle Zephyrus of the west

Of the spring

Of the dawn

​

When Hyacinthus set his sights

On a god

What did he see?

How bright did Apollo shine?

How beautiful did he appear?

​

When Hyacinthus rejected

The wind

What did he feel?

How cold did Zephyrus blow?

How heartbroken did he seem?

​

The story we know

Tells of Apollo’s delight

Zephyrus’s jealousy

Of a discus and a breeze and a death

Of blood and mourning and

The growth of a flower

​

The story we know is lacking

It does not speak

Of human love

Human Delight

Human Fear

​

In the underworld

Did Hyacinthus ever think

Of his lost love?

Did he miss him?

Did he blame him?

Did he know what happened

In that moment

And in the aftermath?

​

Hyacinthus lived in a world

That had never seen a hyacinth flower

​

The hyacinth flower in this world

Has never been admired

Never been plucked

Never been smelled by Hyacinthus

​

The human has been subsumed

By the god

By the tragedy

By the myth

​

So the next time you see

A hyacinth

Think not of Apollo

And his bright grief

Nor of Zephyrus

And his great regret

​

Think of Hyacinthus

A simple Prince of Sparta

A young man in love

He was more than just

A character in someone else’s story

More than just

The tragic victim

Of a mythic love triangle

 

So when you see a hyacinth

Think of the man

And wonder