Poetry Porch: Poetry


Down to the Cellar
By George Kalogeris

They never said: “go down to the cellar,” when I
Was sent down there to bring something back to them.

Instead it was always: “kato sto epógio.”
Archaic the creak of floorboards under your feet;

Narrow the winding stairwell that always went dark
As the kitchen door closed behind you; pointless to reach

For the dangling string, the fixture would never be fixed;
And since there is no railing, your hand must press

Against the dank stone wall the whole way down.
To bring back what? A head of goat’s milk cheese?

A jar of dark red mávrodáphne wine?
That paleolithic drill that turned like a winch?

They never said to me: “go down to the cellar.”
Instead it was always: “kato sto epógio.”

And so I go, back down through the Greek, as if
I could bring them what their shades still need, to speak.

Copyright © 2020 by George Kalogeris.