Two Poems by Marie C Lecrivain

 

Danae Welcomes Andromeda

1.

Yes.

We were entombed

in a sarcophagus 

and then dumped 

in the sea.

Before the lid closed over us

my father looked at me with sad eyes,

and shook his head as if to say,

I knew you'd end up failing me. 

Normally, a visit from the gods 

is greeted as a blessing, 

but for the prophecy 

that said my baby son would kill

his grandfather. 

Maybe  his disappointment 

murdered the dream 

to marry me off 

to a warrior king

and spawn a dynasty.

I'll never know.

2.

Yes.

He’s my son.

His tan skin,

dark curls that embrace

his strong neck, 

and occasional thoughtful gestures-

he gained from me.

He’s his father’s son.

How do I know?

It’s the gold glimmer

I see flash in his eyes

when he’s working out

a solution, or sly strategy 

to get away with what’s considered

impossible, or just on the right side

of immoral. He doesn't care who he hurts

when he strives to win, or bother to look back

at the trail of carnage in his wake.

Ask Medusa. O… we can’t.

3.

No.

I can’t tell you

how to be a good wife

because I never was one,

but I can be your friend,

and another sort of mother

if you choose.

We both love him, 

and nearly lost our lives 

to prove it. I'm here to listen

and to hold you close

on those days he’ll be gone 

without a word, or Fates forbid,

he discovers an adventure 

that’s too good to leave alone.

A Quiet Lullaby

This morning, I heard the voices

of a crow, and a pair of starlings

weave together beneath 

the concrete melody of traffic,

a slow, resentful onslaught 

of people on their way to work 

or school. I remembered 

my grandmother as she

pulled weeds from her garden,

my father’s dark disappointed gaze

as he memorized the D 

on my report card,

and my siblings,

small hands clasped

as they chased 

the ice cream truck

down the street.

I wish I could tell you which 

of memories are true, 

or just a wish,

but when you hear a lullaby

that’s almost as old as time,

it’s easier to close my eyes 

and move into the music,

and for a moment, I forget

everything and everyone else.

Marie C Lecrivain is a poet, publisher, and ordained priestess in the Ecclesia Gnostica Catholica, the ecclesiastical arm of Ordo Templi Orientis. She currently curates two literary blogs: Dashboard Horus: A Bird’s Eye of the Universe (travel themed poetry and art), and Al-Khemia Poetica: A Women’s Art and Literary Journal.  Her work has been published in California Quarterly, Chiron Review, Gargoyle, Nonbinary Review, Orbis, Pirene's Fountain, and many other journals. She's the author of several books of poetry and fiction, and editor of Ashes to Stardust: A David Bowie Tribute Anthology (2023 Sybaritic Press, www.sybpress.com).