Pretty by Catherine Foster
Pretty
Is that all the world will ever remember about me
That by chance I was born with the arrangement of features
That most pleases the senseless whims of men
Pretty
My mother Leda was pretty too
And Zeus took the form of a pretty white bird to pursue her
The daughter of a beauty and a swan
From the very beginning pretty was all that was expected of me
Pretty
The stolen gem that caused a bloody war
The shiny trinket the young prince just had to have
I didn’t ask Paris to take me
Then again I never asked Menelaus to marry me
So is there really so much of a difference
Pretty
Paris keeps singing my praises
“Most fair ivory skin, hair like a chestnut river…”
I tune him out
He’s dimwitted and rash but I can’t hate him
I pity him, even
A helpless little pawn in the game of the gods
Just like me
Pretty
I pity them all, really
Too blind to realize there are more important things than pretty
Their streets will soon be washed in a pretty hue of crimson
Men will kill and fight and die
And I will end up in one set of arms or another
And the sun will rise and set just as it always has
Will they keep on fighting over me, I wonder
Even if I do end up dead?
I would make a very pretty corpse.