Midas’ Mother
by Alexa Stevens
My boy went down to the river and came back bronzed man. Sneer frozen on his handsome face, eyes unblinking, tongue of gold, contempt held Sharp (between his iron cavities). We were unlike. He’d twisted his heart into alloy pockets as cold as the river in the winter-time. Blood drying on my thighs in that frozen winter-time. Like calls to like, I suppose. He had always had that frost-bitten laugh. And he had found that empty frost In the golden glint of a god, in the Idolatry. Blasphemy Leaked from his hands like the hunger that breeds in royalty; Underneath and constant itching at Skin that never broke. He could not bleed ichor even if he tried, Even if his hands felt golden raw with clawing.
He was an animal in his bronzed cage. Writhing in his unbruised pelt like a fish with Glinting armour who sunk the stomach of a grizzly. That flash men Chase into the smiling seas, the sun like a lover once held Glorious and golden, now a constant Fade in memory.
I did not pity him.
The starving Pooled from his eyes when he beheld me; I did not touch him, my blood not his blood, Tainted blood. Unlike. My womb knows no golden glints.
I went down to the river. Listened to the Reeds spit secrets downriver, splitting lives evenly, Down the middle. I listened to the secret of my child, And I did not pity him. It was a meeting – I brought Dionysus bread of my hearth. Ungolden.
We laughed together, in thanks.