Note to Perseus
Good morning! We are again in the realm of Greek mythology this week. Specifically, the story of Perseus, which is entwined with the story of Medusa.
If you remember some of your school days’ Greek mythology, you probably remember Medusa. She is one of the gals with hair made of snakes who turns people to stone when they look at her. Perseus is the guy that slays her by slicing off her head with his sword, which he accomplishes without turning to stone himself by viewing her reflection in his mirrored shield.
So, that’s the short version. But Greek mythology is nothing if not a story of messed up people / gods / demigods.
Perseus’ Story
Perseus is the son of a human woman, Danaë, and Zeus. Danaë is the daughter of King Acrisius of Argos, who had received a prophecy that his grandson (who turns out to be Perseus) would kill him. So the King imprisons his daughter in a metal-walled chamber (open to the sky) so she can’t be with anyone, get pregnant, have a hero-son, and therefore the King will be safe. Yay dad.
Zeus, however, comes to her in the form of golden rain (yeah, rain, a shower of gold) which impregnates Danaë, and therefore we get Perseus.
Skip to the future. Danaë and Perseus are expelled from Argos. Then they are miraculously saved. That’s on the island Serifos. Serifos’ king, Polydectes, wants Danaë to be his wife. She isn’t on board with this plan. So Perseus must go a-heroing to come up with the strength, tools, maturity to save his mom. Off he goes adventuring.
Medusa’s Story
Backtrack a bit here, to Medusa’s history. Medusa starts out as a woman who happens to have long, beautiful, flowing locks of hair. She’s pretty vain about the whole hair thing. She happens (does anything just happen in the Greek mythos?) to be in Athena’s temple where she is raped by the god Poseidon. Because, you know, beautiful hair asking for it. Did I mention that there are issues in much mythology?
So Athena, as you might guess, is pretty unhappy about this situation. She punishes Medusa, however, not Poseidon. Don’t ask why. There’s no rationale for it.
The punishment for Medusa? Hair of snakes. Because, obviously, it was her awesome hair that caused Poseidon to take advantage of her and desecrate Athena’s temple. Yep. It’s the hair that’s at fault. Can’t expect self-control out of those gods.
And then what
Along come Perseus. Long story short (again). Athena gives him the tools he needs, particularly the mirror shield, to kill Medusa. Then he takes the head of Medusa home and uses it to kill Polydectes, therefore freeing Danaë, his mom, from the unwanted control of Sefiros’ king.
Well, that’s one version of it all.
Here’s a version in which Medusa and Perseus have a different relationship. Something other than monster-hero. From Medusa’s point of view:
Note to Perseus
Same earth, different dimension.
Still California, but here we didn’t
blow our marriage apart
with only words. Here you’re not
god-kissed, and even the sun
hangs around, low in the sky
and on half-power all night.
Junior adventurer, don’t make me explain—
reason is your ball game,
your arena, your cage match.
Thrillseeker, boy wonder,
Bright light of morning.
Here my focus turns another way:
hair of snakes, warning not to tamper.
They tickle my shoulders,
sniff my dinner fork.
Rooms are too hot, too cold,
they don’t like me to sweat,
eat jalapeños, or drink beer.
When I crawl in bed, they twist
together like tongues kissing,
worms trapped in a can.
In this world desire shines like love,
like scales, reflecting if not satisfying.
So what if my skin is flawless?
The snakes give me away.
You saw them first, saw
what you wanted to see,
how one creature might aid another,
the weapon I could become.
They curl and tense their long abdomens,
empty bellies pleading: more.
When they molt they rub my neck
insistent as a cat in heat.
They see snags in a sweater,
lint left on a laundered blouse.
I wish they would go blind,
stop whispering: he’s lying, he’ll leave.
I hate they know
what I don’t want to hear.
Their poison passes my lips, harmless.
Call me Faith, not Medusa,
no one need become stone.
Hope licks through me like lightning,
but I know I can’t follow you,
not as I am. Once I tried
to cut them off, stood in the bath
and clipped away.
For a week I was saved,
but they grew through the scabs.
I braid them to one side, their faces
hang over my shoulder.
One flicks its tongue along another’s scales.
You kiss me, ignoring
the reptile stroking your cheek.
You say I’m beautiful. Perhaps here
you’re brave and can love,
perhaps you don’t know the danger.
If you enjoyed Note to Perseus
You can read more of my work on this blog or in the collection Stars Crawl Out From Their Caves, which is available in both ebook and print. Missed a poem of the week? Links to prior weeks are on this page.
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Note to Perseus originally appeared in Spectator & Spooks, Volume #2, Fall 2017.
And, comments welcome, as always–have a great week, and look for another poem next Monday.