I read in the paper today
that your own education minister
denounced your history.
Years of pain and
sorrow,
and eons of battle and
perseverance
gone
once a stupid man opened his careless
mouth.

I watched the news this summer
and endured
a surly report.
Haughty head bobs
filled it
and the anchor revelled
in your pain.
She must’ve thought
a network coffee mug
granted
a license to
mock.

I listened to my aunt
rattle off lists of classes
for my cousin:
French and German,
and basketball
and tennis,
and tutors for this
and help for that,
And they can barely buy
food,
but how else will little cousin
succeed amidst the
other
eurokids?

I see you’ve left the church;
your pew is empty still
and no one cares to take your place.
You used to be a
leader,
president of the parish.
But atheism’s “in” now
and,
after all,
who needs God
when you’ve got
cool?

I pressed my ear to the
ground
and heard the trample of feet in all
directions;
Can’t you hear?
Your children are
running-
to happiness,
to anonymity,
to escape.

They are running from
you.
They were bored of you,
or perhaps
you
of them.
Maybe
it was those juvenile

magic tricks,
like the one where you made
their jobs
disappear.

And who are you,
after all,
oh great love of mine?
Because I, too,
grow tired of your saga,
your give
and your take,
where only you
can take.

Did you
know?
I recognize another
mother
far better than I could
ever you.
She wrapped me in
her cloak of
red
and warmly dressed me
white and
blue.
She nursed me still even
when I cried for
you.
I vowed never to
forget you but
Her love for me’s
unwavered,
while mine for
you
now trembles.

And today,
I read about you
in the
paper.
Disbelievingly,
I wonder:
who are you,
Hellas?

And then I realize:
even you have
forgotten.