elegy for medusa
CW: sexual assault
it always comes back to grief and rot and skin heals eventually, right?
i wonder if anyone ever looked at you before the curse.
i already know the answer. every woman does.
since they could no longer ogle you, you sublimate from girl to monster.
a woman’s life is just a series of traumas. near-deaths.
the best thing a girl can be is beautiful. the next is dead.
did you even want to be seen in the first place?
you wanted wings. wanted to be sharp as a blade, to flick your pitch-black hair,
to destroy. turned prey while praying.
even dead you’re still a body.
victim / weapon, used as men see fit.
dying, the last thing polydectes sees is the tear tracks
down your lifeless cheeks, your mouth still open to scream.
in hades, he makes a comment on your O face.
a girl is a body. a dead girl is just something that won’t make a sound
when you force her into this or that position.
darling, μέδουσα, my feminine protector.
even when they can’t see you, they find a way to fucking kill you.
you should’ve been spring princess. should’ve been crowned prom queen
& married a girl & opened up a flower shop in rural hydra.
we all get swallowed in the end. it’s okay,
it doesn’t hurt so much unless you let it. love is never gentle,
is it? sometimes i wish the whole world would just stop.
but it never stops. it never stops.
childhood is a phantom pain,
a ghostlike shadow,
i still jolt at loud noises.
when i am not kindling myself,
i’m thinking about you
& all the things i want to be.
listen, i might be a carcass,
remains of maternal arson,
something born to be killed--
but as the lamb is led to the rite,
don’t you think it dreams
of something better?
i want to be too beautiful to die.
i want you
to let me eat your heart.
helga floros lives and writes in berlin. she has work in occulum, peach mag, witchcraft magazine, & elsewhere.
Uncovered logs from the distant past and the future beyond.