to Discord, I bring my troubles
as I cry out
and she listens
it is right, in a way, that my hearthfire
burned through the brazier, rusted, rotten
where someone else left it out in the rain
for Eris to borrow
and claim refuge in my peace once again
my beloved strife,
how sorry I am to have strayed
but the fire is out
the brazier is warped
dripping flakes of fiery rust, steaming water
the ash and coals soaked through
as she drags me from Hestia’s embrace
to face the truth.
to Discord, I bring my troubles
offered up to her ears
on the wings of an omen
of strife, my oldest friend
I do not begrudge the messenger
who bore the grim word to the others
that I had tasted the fruits of the underworld
and now found the light of day
to be wanting.
to Discord, I bring my troubles
when I stand looking down at the wreckage
that we, my goddess and me, have made
what happens if we rewrite the story
what happens if we give Helen a say
what happens if no one has a thousand ships
to send in the hopes of stealing her face
what happens if she builds ships of her own
to carry herself far and away
what happens if Persephone welcomes her
to the space for those to dwell
who are torn ‘twixt worlds
to hold her as they burn?
to Discord, I bring my troubles
she gives me sympathy
we know what it is to be the villain
we both have our parts to play
and so she sends me on my way
sprints by my side, as a fire in my breast
bare feet carrying us far
through darkened streets
across white sands until
together we reach the moonlit ocean and
dive deep into the water
eyes open
until they are numb
to the salt and the sting
as it mingles with our own
until the bioluminescence
of a million tiny things
flickers against my corneas
like a million tiny nebulas
and reminds us
what it is we live for.