Perseus & Medusa

When Jo and I were bored, we decided the best form of entertainment would be to challenge each other to write sestinas based on random words selected from the Wikipedia page on Medusa and the OED word of the day (which was fall-back, bizarrely). Whilst Jo's was obviously better, and featured romance and death, mine is just Medusa moping about her cave for a bit. Here it is:

Still crawling out of infancy,

you closed your eyes, remembering

the stony stares of silent gazers.

They thought they’d peered behind your mask,

and they froze you with their force. Fall-back

to where each shadow soaks the echoes of your name. Medusa.

The echoes of the arms that sheltered your name, Medusa,

the hiss of the lisp of your infancy.

Arms out—the shadows overlap—fall-back.

Let the darkness cushion your remembering.

Let the darkness lick the outlines of the mask,

of the stone-cold ones you’ve overcome, your gazers.

“Ash-back eye-holes swallowed me on the street. Gazers

reframed me in the spit of their hiss. Medusa,

sitting in the shadows and stroking each death mask

with the tip of her leathered tongue. So many boys

who’ve shared their lips since infancy;

the texture of each tongue, the friction, worth remembering.

Arms out—the shadows catch my skull—fall-back.

“Fall-back, and fuck their understanding, fall-back

away from the ash-black eyes of gazers,

and later I will wake from this remembering,

but now the cave cocoons me with my name. Medusa.

This stone is the shelter of an infancy

come again. Child of darkness. Girl with the Halloween mask.”

So you spoke. “Don’t come close. My last mask

has worn through. Could you fall-back

just a little? Here, in my den of infancy,

each ash-black stone will smother gasping gazers.

My rules. My statues. The playthings of Medusa

weep blood with the force of their remembering.

“Do I see you trembling? Or am I just remembering

the man who came here last? See his death mask.

One of my best. Crying for his Medusa.

I still trace his tears. But fall-back,

this place is not for you. Your eyes are not cruel like those gazers

who’ve shrunk me since my infancy.”

I rose and put an end to her remembering.

I kept her head and stroke the snakes sometimes to mask

my guilt. I took it home. Already stone, I killed Medusa.

Boyhood

It started with substandard films

And Hollywood explosions.

Manhattan burned, we faced our doom

From comets, drones or Martians.

Guy Fawkes demands an audience

When he gives himself to flames.

And violence is a boy’s best friend

In bloody playground games.

When British Bulldogs led the chase

That scrapes the skin from knees.

When infant fists stroked supple skin

It felt like a release.

When we learnt about the birds and bees

The teacher looked so serious.

It terrified my childhood friend

Who asked if boys have periods.

When my crush whined grass was in her bra

I scrunched up summer leaves.

When she started dating my best friend

Milk teeth made chapped lips bleed.

Perhaps the joy when tissues burn

Wasn't worth the wasted dust.

And perhaps the half price shoot-‘em-ups

Were never right for us.

Still, flowers once were shattered seeds

And fractured eggs makes birds.

And silence must be broken with

Artillery of words.

What harm was there is throwing stones

At Spot, the neighbour’s cat?

And insects feel no pain when scorched

With a magnifying glass.

So you will feel no hurt when I

Visit your lips too roughly.

And when I step across that line

You’ll damn well cross it with me.

Whitby

Seven years later: I'm back here again.

Is this the same town that I cherished before?

Is this the same sand? Is this the same shore

Where I danced to the pulse of the waves?

The silver framed photos are all that I have

To bind me to this quiet beach

But the pictured sand has left the land

The grains of me lost to the sea—

Before the hoping doting groping

Chocking with hurt

Feel like filth

Feel like dirt

Dad calling me ‘sod’ and carpet burns

And yellow paper fantasies—

Clifftop graveyard,

Ruined abbey,

New-sand seashore,

Nothing stays.

Pirate golf course,

Cliff-lift eyesore,

Salt-smell, seagulls,

They remain—

The grey sea claims me

Lately, they say

Insides echo,

Hollow, let go,

Touch me, tell me

I could matter;

Break me, fell me,

Idle patter;

Feed me, lead me

Back, back—

It rained so we stayed inside the car

And swallowed chicken sandwiches

The windows steaming

Dreaming

I would

Never leave there

Breath in

Leaving—

My Whitby where did you go?

The waves beat on while I was home.

Repeated breakers

Shape us

Make us

Longshore drift

Shall dislocate us.

I tried to dance with two left feet,

But quickly stumbled out of time.

The waves beat on, the tide encroached,

My loved ones said it would be fine.

So Whitby: home of vampires

And Goths and jet-based jewellery.

All I recall is that I loved

Those gentle memories truly.

So love me, Whitby, though I may

Have known the taste of failure.

I’ll find my head, then I’ll return

If you can’t be my saviour.

The sea is always calmest in

The space between the waves.

I’ll never leave that steamed-up car

The wind won’t bite my face.

The abbey perfect once again,

The seagull in mid-flight,

And there I’ll be;

The static sea

Will not know day nor night

My Whitby and Whitby's me

Together for all time.

Find me beneath the whale bone arch

A child again: alive.