Women —
Do you not see a part of your self in Medusa?
When Perseus soared high above the Gorgon’s serpentine crown,
With winged sandals of freedom,
Above her isolated exile,
When he assailed her with sword from behind
As she wreathed and hissed,
And protected himself from her stare with mirrored shield,
Did you not catch a glimpse of your own horrific rage
reflected and refracted?
Do not forget!
That Medusa was once a beautiful priestess
to the Goddess Athena,
That she was once fair and golden
with all the untouched innocence of the unknown
radiating from her youthful and delicate features.
Do not forget!
That she was raped by a God!
Then turned to a monster, in retribution, by her Goddess.
Turned by her jealous Goddess into a horrid thing.
Do not forget that her story is told by men.
And that women are raped by much less than a God, today,
and ever since.
Do not forget!
That her monstrous eyes turned men to stone
but once melted their hearts.
That when taken, Poseidon, the Lord of the Sea, came to her
in the form of a stallion,
In the form of pure, primordial, primitive, animalistic force.
Do not forget!
That he disguised himself,
That he did not show himself,
That he beguiled then took her.
Do not forget!
She was deceived.
And when our monstrous rages erupt like Vesuveus in Pompeii
From the slights of inconsideration,
Who do we suffocate with our pumiceous ash?
But our lovers, our elders, our children, and our friends
Who hide, overcome and fetal,
against the paroxysm of the storm.
Who then fear the frightening power of the wounded?
But the men who wound their women?
But the women who wound their sisters?
But the mothers and the fathers who wound their daughters?
How can one fear what one has created?
It is asked…
As the Wounded’s rage rises
until it has burned all that surrounds her,
Molten lava scorching as she was scorched,
Burning the sky and extinguishing the air,
Asphyxiating those who surround her.
And what is rape? But the interruption of a solid inviolate breath?
No! But it is the violation, the subjugation,
the enslavement of one’s will
through the domination of one’s flesh.
It is the destruction of the complete!
Rage against rage against rape!
What might have come of Medusa
had her sister-Goddess not turned upon her?
Had Athena shown Wisdom instead of hate?
Had the Goddess of Wisdom protected her
from her father’s brother?
Medusa’s home lay at the entrance of the gates
of the Underworld,
Her teeth were turned to boar’s tusks,
Her tongue made fat and black,
But borne from her reaping and from her severed neck
was Pegasus,
Who flew up to the Heavens and with one kick
unleashed the spring of Hippocrene —
The source of all Poetic Ins—pir—a—tion!
Ah! The irony of destruction is creation!
Beloved by the very Goddess who cursed his Matriarch,
He was tamed by Athena’s golden bridle
And made a constellation to be admired
by epochs and ages to come!
Now, how can you ask where our rage comes from?
When we bear this fabled offspring of violation and deceit?
And wear the self-imposed Gorgonian mask
we now use to frighten those away
who may wish to hurt?
Or who may be hurt by eons of our wounded rage?
April 27, 2009
