Long ago
It was called
The Island of the Dead.

Made of red, black, and white volcanic ash,
It sat
In Homer’s wine-dark sea.

If one climbed to the top
— though few did—
One came upon a fountain.

And it was by the fountain’s edge
That the old Chief Librarian
Met the old Astronomer.

It was here that they fell,
Strangely,
In love.

He courted her with stars
And she, in return,
Beguiled him with maps.

Nightly they walked together to the shore,
But only after their deaths
Did fresh ashes cover their footsteps.

Hundreds of years later,
A young Chief Librarian and an equally young Astronomer
Slept by the fountain’s edge.

Separately,
And on consecutive nights,
Each dreamed tenderly of the other.

Did they later meet?

The tale, on this point,
Is unclear.

What is known, however, is that in their wills
Both requested their ashes be scattered
In the waters of the fountain,

And that ashes from the island
— now known as the Island of Tenderness—
Be brought to the Library of Maps.

As part of the initiation of each new Chief Librarian
Ashes are now poured
Upon her head.

Winds and water
Slowly swept over the island,
Until it disappeared under the ocean.

The few ashes preserved in the Library
Are all that remains of the Island of Tenderness—
Together with its sporadic appearance in dreams.

by Moira Roth
Written 6/27/02