The Braided Bone

In another world Helen kisses Medea’s blood soaked hands.
She asks her, “What of your children? What of Jason?
Do you know what they are saying about you?”
Medea knows – she is a vengeful sorceress;
killing the children she carried inside of her own body out of spite;
dismembering the man who swept her hair away from her face
saying she was made from his rib – that they were inseparable
one beautiful being.
“We do not have much time,” says Medea, cupping Helen’s
neck, drawing her from the bed.
“But Medea –”
“Do you believe them?” she asks. “Do you think my hands
have done more than take what was rightfully mine?”
“Revenge?”
“Do you know what they say about you? That your face
will be legendary, but there are no locks on your door.
That you will lead the war – that men will ride into battle
on your back like a beautiful horse.
Helen of Troy.”
Medea slips her gown down until its a black puddle at her feet;
until Helen’s mouth has opened like a rose above her navel
– tender and awash with dew;
“We will watch them burn,” Helen says
against Medea’s skin. “I will watch them burn for what they’ve done to you.
And when we disappear, you can teach me of your magic
so my face can be my own.”
“I will teach you all my magic, and I will braid your gold hair
with their bones.”

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3 comments
  1. thefeatheredsleep said:

    I love your writing! ♡♡♡

      • thefeatheredsleep said:

        I will always think it♡

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