Twos fall apart.
In our heart we know this;
Where there was once a trio,
A duo can never remain.
Like Stheno and Euryale,
The immortal Gorgon siblings,
After their dying sister’s blood
Birthed the winged horse,
We will pass out of existence,
Too weak to remain.
(With their boar’s tusks and brassy claws
They once promised to rend the killer Perseus,
To chase him through the Grecian sky
On wings of beaten gold,
To glare him down with their stony eyes.
They failed, as we did,
To find revenge,
And spent the rest of their short lives,
As we soon must,
Alone, in mourning
For their snake-haired missing third.)
The Fates, too, would be helpless alone;
Even if the thread was spun,
Who would weave it?
If it were woven, who would cut?
I joke, but no one laughs –
She sings and no one listens.
I care nothing for music and
My sibling has no sense of humor.
We need him to hold us together,
Untangling conflict, building bridges,
Reconciling two girls who cannot
Seem to manage it themselves.
Who are Crone and Maid, without the Mother?
Can we last as sisters, without our brother?
Wed, April 1, 2009
by Grace Hansen, Sophomore, College of Wooster filed under