Europa and the Bull

The white bull is unlike the others

in her father's herd

an alarm sounds

in the back of her mind

but she ignores it

following her friends

as they dash into the fields

to pick the flowers

that bloom in summer

that smell so fragrant

and so sweet

this time of year

they are delighted

at the sight of the new addition

the strange white creature

unlike anything they have ever seen

they warble and croon

running their delicate fingers

across his soft back

as he lows his pleasure

at the attentions

of such fine maidens

on such a fine day

with the warm sun beating down

the tall grass beneath their feet so fragrant

so ready

to be cut into hay

they are drowsy with the pleasure

that comes with a fine summer day

with the wonder of a strange creature

that appears from nowhere

that submits to their attentions

and is calm and safe and exactly what they dreamed

a lazy summer day of picking flowers

and crooning to a herd of cows would be.

Europa, always the wisest, always the prettiest,

a thing she could no more control than the weather

or her father's wealth,

even she is charmed by the white bull's tender nature

she takes gentle steps forward

head-on

even as the handmaids surround the bull on all sides

Europa inches toward its nose

arm extended

reaching for the velvety pink softness there

the bull tucks its head

bowing to the lady as she approaches

then bends the knee

then lays its bulk down upon the grass

Europa kneels before the gentle creature

takes its head in her hands,

places a chaste kiss on the pink nose

then before she can even think the thought

before she can caution herself against her desire

she has swung her muscular thighs over the

great beasts back

brushing aside the hands of the other girls

emptying them of the fragrant flowers they carry

in an instant

the bull is standing

the beast is running

running across the fields and trampling the the tall grass

so green

so fragrant

so ready

to be cut into hay

Europa clings to his ears, clings to his fur, clings for fear that she will fall

the wind whips her unbound hair and she closes her eyes

against the blur of the white bull's speed

she cannot bear to see the countryside disappear at such a pace

she cannot bear to feel the lack of fear in her heart as her home disappears behind her

so she clings

and listens to the rhythm of the beast's hoofbeats on the earth

his breathing under her breast

and under that, his heart, a steady beat, pa-rum pa-rum

she breathes him in, his scent, the grasses of the field

familiar and safe, but under that

a dangerous scent, the musky scent of men

which sends a thrill up her thighs

that she has never felt before

when they reach the ocean she smells it

before she opens her eyes and sees it

the air is salty now

his footfalls change on the sand

the ocean spreads out before them

as far as the eye can see

and he plunges in without so much as glance back at her

the water splashes on her face

and in her mouth and it is briny,

saltier than any olive

richer than any calves liver

she spits and gulps the air

but the waves hit her again and again

she tucks her face against his back and only then

does she find some respite

from the brutality of the sea

again she focuses on the rhythms

of his breathing, of his heart

of his muscles rising and falling

with his strokes against the tide

she does not notice

the army of nereids

gathered to calm the waves

she does not sense Poseidon

to whom she has paid respects

but never prayed

(a child of the plains who has,

before today, never seen the sea)

riding along to oversee

Lulled by the rhythms of her white bull

she is soothed sufficiently to sleep

and the beast bids the sun to set

and allows the moon to sate her curiosity

When Europa awakes on the sand

of a far-flung foreign isle

she is looking into the eyes of a man

and she screams

Stop. he commands

and she does, like the snuffing of a light

the fear is gone

Europa, he says, caressing her face

and his hands are as soft as a velvety pink nose

and she breathes him in, his scent

and it is there, the smell of grass

and bull and musky man

she places a hand on his chest and

the rhythm of his heart is the same

it never changes

and she knows him

quietly, she says his name,

and it is a prayer,

and he accepts her offering

and shows her the Island of Crete

which is her dowry

it is not a choice perse'

for her to make

the choice was made

when Zeus took his form

and picked her in the field

but how she accepts

her fate

how they go forward

as lovers

or as bitter foes

that she can choose

for herself

and for the three sons she will bear him

and for all the others that will follow

descendants down the line from Europa

And so, Europa, always the wisest, always the prettiest,

takes his hand

accepts her fate.

Now, tell me,

when you see her,

outlined in the stars

placed there by the king of gods

her Zeus,

do you see a remembrance of epic romance

or a memorial to astronomical tragedy?