qarrtsiluni

Medusa’s hair snakes, split ends
Wriggling, writhing. Imagine
It all as dissonance, that face
Uncovered in stone. Imagine
Medusa, her striking grace
Notes, these striking
Strokes on ivory. Imagine all these
Keys, all lost, that don’t fit,
Any locks but hers; imagine all this
Silence hanging heavy
As lava, before chisel eventually
Comes down, cleaving
Like a sword. Imagine it all as past:
No face, no glare, no splitting
Ends; imagine only her smooth back
Before she’s been transformed:
Hair falling, wrinkling into waves.
Imagine her only as stone.

by Pamela Johnson Parker

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