The Sisters of Book Row

Prologue

Isle of Lésbos

Greece

Sixth Century BCE

A breeze dances among the leaves of the olive trees that cast their shade over the walled courtyard. The day is mild, and

the young girls sit talking as they weave garlands for the coming wedding of a friend.

Lovely Sappho sits on a marble bench, her lyre balanced on her knee. With the first touch of her tortoiseshell plectrum on

the strings, music fills the air. The girls begin to sway over their work as she plays. Nearby the sweet notes of Leta’s aulos

join in and weave themselves through the tune, drawing the girls to their feet.

And Sappho begins to sing:

Come now gentle Graces, and fair-haired Muses.

By the cool water the breeze murmurs, rustling

Through apple branches, while from quivering leaves

Streams down deep slumber.

They clasp hands as they do many mornings, moving as one into a circle, their chitons of finest Lydian cloth flowing with their movement as their feet silently circle the cool tiles of the courtyard beneath them.

Come then, I pray, grant me surcease from sorrow,

Drive away care, I beseech thee, O goddess

Fulfil for me what I yearn to accomplish,

Be thou my ally.

As one, they dip and turn, swinging their linked hands to and fro as the broaches upon their shoulders wink in the sunlight.

They face one another, smiling; step into the circle’s center, their fingers meeting briefly before they step back again to

relish one last circle before they return to their work.

With my two arms, I do not aspire to touch the sky.

Someone, I tell you, will remember us, even in another time.