Among the Gorgons

For seventeen years I was caught in the surf.

Drubbed and scoured, I’d snatch a breath

and be jerked down again, dragged across

broken shells and shingle. I loved it,

mostly, the need, how I fed the frantic.

I’d skipped into that sea. Certainly not

a girl, but I could still turn a head as I took

the foam between my thighs.

Then it was over.

                                Hiss of a match

snuffed with spit. The sea had trotted off.

I stood in the stink of flapping fish.

At first it stung. A galaxy of dimes

eyed my sag and crinkles and dismissed

me like a canceled stamp,

but something tugged at me, silver braids

weaving and unweaving themselves

and either the path was shrinking

or I was getting bigger, for soon the way

was just a hair, the extra bit of wit

a grandma leaves on her chin

to scare the boys, and it led me

into a cave crackling like a woodstove

with laughter.

                            A landslide opened

a seam of rubies and we stepped inside.