MEDUSA

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“On a planet where for thousands of years, even today, a woman’s worth has been judged exclusively by the productivity of her womb, what the hell is the point of a barren woman?”
― Elissa Stein and Susan Kim

After the change they called you a monster.
Ain’t that the truth, Ruth, Ruelaine and Susan; Pat, Judy and Audre – –
That dying, drying, dissolving inside. Listen.
You had no child so you had no cradle and what woman can dance with ecstasy with no cradle?
Who can sing when they have no tongue?
They hang girls for less, body and mind.
The priestesses banished you to the island of Cisthene in the Red Sea (east of Ethiopia).
What man wouldn’t lose his erection at the sight of you? What woman wouldn’t cast you out?
Somewhere Athene laughed while plotting your murder, “Perseus, bring me her head.”
We love to be fruitful; outside spring rises; we even describe the world in terms of ovulation.
Ai, mama mine, winter time.

][][

No one wants to remember how the goddess of wisdom, courage and womanhood cursed you for getting raped.
You would think that your name alone would shatter a civilization built on pomegranates and sweet wine.
Today apologists say that you were prideful, that you boasted, that the gods moved in mysterious ways.
So do priestesses. So do judges.
Athene didn’t curse Cassandra when she was raped in her temple.
She was young, fertile, still a thing of beauty.
But you, mother mine, became the exception to the rule.
Rules change. Honey and harp strings. Swine and flies.
Here is the head of a woman with snakes in her hair.

][][

Lovely-cheeked and
ironic. Your blood spilled
out vipers, Pegasus
and me.

][][

Hysteria: suffering of the womb, madness of the womb, but still a womb.
That which defines, that which engenders.
“As long as men ejaculate they will try to control what comes out.”
That which they cannot possess turns them to stone.
The change; you were desired once, Poseidon cursed you, Athene cursed you, Perseus cut off your head.
Now you have no more use, you and your sisters on Cisthene.
“What do you see when you look in the mirror?”
“Myself.”
“Doesn’t that fill you with rage? Coil your hair in fury? Make every pleasure into a wasteland? What do you feel looking at yourself being slain?”
“Why are you still talking to me?”

][][

“I looked into her stony eyes and see only myself.”

No, they aren’t stony, that is just what you want to see in them.
I call her mother the way I call all who taught me ancestor.

“Speak earth and bless me with what is richest.”

“Queen/ we claim you.”

“I am here to take/ back my Mother that/ you just Othered.”

I do not look like you, but I keep looking.

][][

We stripped the old woman to prove that her body was once like ours.
A man passing as a woman is a double blasphemy.
Not only is he an oppressor but he has a face like ours.
What is a revolutionist to do when monsters come in so many forms?
That which cannot bear seed must be rubbed out.
How to silence the wailing from the monster?
When it is time to pray at dawn there is the wavering sound of a man singing from the slender phalli of minarets.
Today Iran hung 16 year-old Atefeh Sahaaleh for “crimes against chastity.”
That is to say, Iranian judge Haji Rezai bragged that he raped and tortured Atefeh then had her hung to silence the girl after she removed her hijab and threw her shoe at him.
There are ghosts – – there are ghosts that stay with me that I love
the old man in drag – the daughter with the broken neck – my mother who turned her back
hush now, listen as we sever their tongues.

][][

resistance to
domination is part
of the domination
itself, oppression
adapts, by the time
you’re done reading
this you too are
complicit and
part of the system

][][

What a drag; every time they tell your story it is always the same.
Even the priestesses – holy of holy – do not falter.
They have named your malady, mother: barrenness, death of the womb, a monster with nappy hair.
It’s always the same remedy: a man beheads you and places that which he despises before him.
Because a goddess commanded it.

][][

You’re loved, you’re loved, you are loved.

Once there was an island.
And on it lived three sisters: Stheno, Euryale and Medusa.
And that’s all you need to know.

rootless

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“take me to the poppy field, I asked my/ lover”
— — ofsoliloquies

[S]ister stalk the root taken from my jaw,
flowers keel over, the hothouse frame cracks

and curve. What you give I cannot name, gnaw,
wake or smoke your bouquets down to their flax

and heart. At the water’s edge I’m earthbound
but there — — “circles kissing water” — — spirit

troubling surface. Your words the good wound,
the wind that drags my hoop skirt and corset

from me. Point toward whiskey benediction,
up to the neck. Fill my jaw-hole, waiting

for the holy holy. Press nerve, milky
weed, cracked lips, reluctant waves suck crimson

down what you give rootless I blow letting
me name troubled waters holy holy

radical acts

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“poet is priest is pervert”

We go to the cloister’s windows and
watch the nuns undressing. Some

smoke cigarettes, others eat
mandarins. All of them have fingers

stained blue with iodine, anything
to prove that they haven’t been

touching themselves. Show me a nun
who will show what lays between

her thighs and I’ll show you a new
world order. But that’s not change.

The ex-communicated know that priests
in love with teenage anarchy are still

oppressors. The theology student with a
PhD is still making shit up. There is

no overture to a revolution. There is no
revolution. Systems are systems,

interchangeable, stretching out before
us, sweet with hope. But that’s not what

offends. It’s when the girl, turning around,
sees our breath staining the window

from which we watch. As if your
fingerprints, pressing against the glass,

are radical acts. As if my heart, pounding
on the pane, is some sort of freedom.

mewling

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“it crawled into my system/ while my guard was down,” – curve, fait accompli

A prophetess speaks on
the airwaves. Got your ears

on? Roll me like spirit
weed, careful I crumble.

You called me a pretty
fear, for I am low. Off

the interstate I heard
their mewling among

the worm seed. Cat-
pawed girls, potbellied

twins, they say, don’t try
to get away, their flea

bites the proof that I need.
I would tie up their hair

in ribbons. We’d wear thigh-
high go-go boots. I wouldn’t

be lonely while shifting
gears. We three succeed in

worshiping Our Lady of Blue
Hot Pants and Breastplates,

Lynda Carter. Forever reruns
is the best an actress can

hope for. The static of a radio
and the static of a TV is

the same static. Somewhere
Diana Prince is taking off

her glasses. You think that
I’m lonely. You send lewd

seflies but that’s not what
I want. There are some spirits

I’d still fall on my sword for, as
if to say, got the guts for it?

Everything is better with
a katana. To say, indeed,

everything is better when
someone else is driving,

the window rolled down,
I’m drunk and lolling. Break

her, he said. You had no
choice. I go down like death’s

seed. I cloud your judgment.
Breaker. Breaker. Good

buddy. That is to say, I am
here to stay. Hear me now.

strange octave

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“A bra, a bra for all/ sizes” – May Wong,
a bad girl’s book of animals (1969)

Pity the mermaid, she knows nothing about
cunnilingus. Underwear baffles her.

I’d give up my fins, too, to lick that doubt.
To taste what the other side enjoys. Her

body comes out of the sea at dusk, crawls
through the grasses. There are no runaways.

No one gets to swim free. On the stonewall
of the beach – a house; its alien ways

will vex her. Even the shamans among
her kind can only sing about night skies.

We hope a queer stanza, a strange octave
will lead to wonders, to songs that our tongues

forgot. As if it’s language that denies
us all this, and not us denying love.