Medusa

takes her pills from a paper cup,never sits, will not be touched;she walks the halls, eyes downcast,a warning swinging at her back.Committed by the state she reignsPriestess of Ward C, circlesthe hour in disposable slippers,crowned by the fury they medicate.No humor in this place,for no one laughed when she druggedthe therapy cat’s water, watchedits panic spoil the curtain lace. Monster.Feared for the strength of her gazeshe is silenced and blamedfor what she suffers. This womanwho once trained the snakeon its own tail will not openevery arm to love for she is motherwithout man; this woman, held downin a puddle on the marble floor. Rapedin the temple of her own wisdom.Gorgon-made, obsidian, whose painis so lucid it reflects the stars. Onceshe unfurled like silk the gift of her sight.Now this woman sees only stonein man’s mortal, bitter heart.