Cauldron Anthology Issue 9: They Who Were Spurned cauldron9finalproof | Page 25

And yes, I would tell you the name
of my actions, trace the letters
at the place of growing
your story. They claim this is a warning
of wickedness, not unlike my own
myth. But recall the girls before us.
daughters. Say sacrifice in incantation.
Mothers wear marks, not unlike
the rings of trees, and you say
words now, like spells. Cast the truth
at sky, and wait for an answer.
Ask yourself:
Daughters in my time
were bound to rocks and ravaged
by gods. And what of yours?
I’m not sure there’s a difference.
The poets of old wrote of me
in much the same way
they’ll write of you, never knowing
the cavernous echo as you choose
to be emptied clean. I don’t blame you,
will it always be this way? I, my love,
am no oracle. But my father’s father
bears the burning of the sun,
even as they do. But such is their defilement,
a disaster to claim something
they’ll never understand.
and I, too, bore a son. And another.
Divine did tell me another way
to survive, to shriek as the sirens do,
and assuage the grief after birthing,
as my aunt did. Her name sounds
like circle, but she was no sacred shell.
There was nothing golden
in her ratio of reverentia
and revulsion. I, too, never wished
to be saved, but to be set free
to the sea’s rage. And what of you
now? Believe me. It’s not such a shame
to be banished. Lands of exile are nothing
compared to the chains of men.
Fear only now as they say no
and no and never. You, too, must speak
without shame. Voices sound the same
in the dark, but the others can’t steal
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Cauldron Anthology