helen of the hellenes

by jamie kim-worthington

cover photo by Joy Xing, modeled by @bbmelx

helen of troy

was never a living person. she was a corpse

that was passed around from Sparta to Troy

with paper-white, snow-white, Ikea-painted-white-bed-white

skin. with blackened eyes, highlighter-yellow cheekbones.

her main epithet is dios thugater daughter of Zeus-

speak not of her golden hair! pay no mind to her long dresses,

the fabric made unreal,

because she is the daughter of a noble house, not a woman!

i think not know but think,

helen knew there were men in the horse in Troy. 

and she tried to drive them out by speaking in the voices of their wives.

helen, who we often forget is a demigod in her own birthright,

born from a fucking egg,

made her voice mellifluous, made herself into Clytemnestra

and Penelope and the Unnamed Wives.

helen of troy was never a person. she was just a voice

that kissed the beams of the Trojan Horse

and ghosted through the men hidden inside.

helen of troy

was born, shaped, to be pretty. she was never shaped to be kind.

helen of troy could be replaced with a pretty lamp

and Paris, Menelaus, the roomful of kings who promised themselves to her,

wouldn’t see the difference.

this is what i mean when i say that she was not a living person.

goddesses are not living people. ghosts are not living people. beautiful lamps are not living people.

helen, of Sparta before she was of Troy, 

worth a thousand ships, worth a dining hall full of kings,

is not a living person.