Remember Me
from issue Number 2, September 2009
by Lindsey Gould

His cheek is sore
as it moves against musty earth
each time he takes a shaky breath.
The only light falls like a faint dust
from the tiny droplets clinging to the walls.

Reaching in the dark, he trips
and the might of his body
gives way to doubt in his mind
curling arms in the mud, he will not rise up.

Deep inside his belly, swooping and painful,
fear flips over in Gilgamesh,

He wonders about being alone.
It was not so long ago, that joy,
being with the best man he ever knew.
Why is he gone, why is he not in the cavern,
what strength did it take to
shut his eyes forever.

I would fight to hear his laughter again.
To see his crooked smile, his wild hair
in the wind after daybreak.

Two companions now, together in the dark.
I am dead, he says, but you are not.
Gilgamesh can hear him, can see
the look in his eyes as he extends his hand
past the shadow of death and into his own.

His hands find purchase, clench
in the unliving soil.
He is pulled up, he stumbles,
he is on his feet.

To die… says Gilgamesh, stepping forward,
I am not ready to die.
Not today.

Author's Note
The challenge in writing about a well-known character from literary history is that most responses are overly familiar. What I have set out to do in this poem is to wave aside the familiar, paraphrasable context of the myth in order to make connection with a human moment at the heart of the story. This scene struck me so strongly because I was able to The challenge in writing about a well-known character from literary history is that most responses are overly familiar. What I have set out to do in this poem is to wave aside the familiar, paraphrasable context of the myth in order to make connection with a human moment at the heart of the story. This scene struck me so strongly because I was able to sympathize with Gilgamesh in his moment of despair. I recall sitting in my dorm room after my first college lecture, thinking of those few lines where he falls down in a dark cave, afraid and alone. His is, in many aspects, a superhuman character; yet Gilgamesh’s fall in the dark involves emotions all people can recognize. What reader hasn’t felt fear? Hasn’t felt hopelessness? Who has never despaired at the loss of a friend? with Gilgamesh in his moment of despair. I recall sitting in my dorm room after my first college lecture, thinking of those few lines where he falls down in a dark cave, afraid and alone. His is, in many aspects, a superhuman character; yet Gilgamesh’s fall in the dark involves emotions all people can recognize. What reader hasn’t felt fear? Hasn’t felt hopelessness? Who has never despaired at the loss of a friend? - LG

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About the Author
Lindsey Gould studies English and theatre at Boston University.