Podarge The wind was once my husband and I bore him sons, horses that carried Achilles to Troy. I may look like this now: rusting, yellow-toothed, the smell of yesterday’s supper on my breath, a reputation for teasing the blind, deafening those who dared to ensnare me unfairly. Before Hesiod, I was the very standard of beauty --angel-haired, with the softest plumage, more sought after than those showoff Sirens. My breasts have nursed a thousand yet none whom I’ve suckled will defend me now, ashamed they cannot distinguish mother from aunts, nor discern squall from dark vengeance and sounds of thunder from petty grievances of men.
At the end of the first week of American Sonnet female poems! whew!
that last couplet is so powerful with its three-fold negative progression of discernment … i love the perspective of this poem and the multitude of threads/meanings it allows… i especially like the break at the end of line one