Revisiting the tales of Pandora, Narcissus, and Cassiopeia
E. Martinez is an undergraduate student at Vassar College. They are fascinated with myth, divinity, and connection. They can be found on Twitter @marrowsweet.
You are wax lipped and donkey tongued. Amalgam, though not named as such. Gifted girl hammered from forgegod, kissed by olive-wise and seafoam-rage. Inlaid with storm-house spirit and sun-gold charm. You are pristine, carved from stone for trapped-boy, Though he lacks a name too. He awaits a wedding, Storm-House watches. Winged-song steps forward with hand to carry you— a package, more precious than all of rest-depth’s dominion. Amphora of nectar, love ripened like figs. A jewel box. You are placed at his feet, glowing and still warm. Aching stillnesses line the doorframe. Risorius taut, you enter. There you spend months, Storm-House waits. Snakes hiss in the garden, emerald-queen wakes. SHE STARES. you are flattened. the box clatters from the shelf. SHE EXHALES feathered-one is left, pressed unyieldingly into the dirt.
Heel trodden and soil bent. They find you, bare as silk, wet with dew and mucus. Emaciated—skin sag and derelict stomach. Snapped bowstring of virile youth, splayed out across the basin. She calls out once more. A name flashes across the valley. Repeated, carried, caressed on the winds. Your name, at least you think. It had lost any importance to you, drowned in the still water. Lips cracked and dry, caved in upon sinew and jowl. You are backwards. Mudcracked boy rising/falling, in his own heat filled gaze.
Twisted-star look down upon me, chase deft tongue with Great-Hunter. Pass berries to Beginning-Ending as you trace the fine details of my face. Coil hair and finger into the nape of my neck, tug at me, rend flesh to marrow. Suck down into my breast, between collar and hip bones, there is something called life. It wars upon me, distending my form. Arching my spine and scalding my lips, for no purpose greater than torture.
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