You, Poseidon, came to me in the temple.  
I laughed at suitors. Men in love. 

You said I was a thing of beauty, a cup for love.
You smashed the cup. You poured the wine.

In Athena’s temple, you raped me on the floor. 
My eyes met Athena’s. She found me guilty.

After the rape, I gathered myself in my blood. 
Athena whispered, “I curse you.” 

Athena said, “You wore red. Your skirts rustled. You smiled.
Your hair will rustle. Your face will be unforgettable.

Your silky hair will be snakes.
Your sweet voice a hiss. You are creature.”

Carry this story forward. Rape is the fault of the victim.
Carry this story forward. The female turns the key, opens the door.

You raped me in the temple. 
I am that thing.  Hold my head aloft.

Laugh for generations.
Don’t stop until Medusa is synonymous with death.

Turn me into that thing you fear.
Make me monster. Make me creature you fear in the dark.

Wet, ripe, swollen. Waiting for pleasure. That thing demanding.
Fear the woman with her own snakes. 

Men kept visiting me in the cave on the island of Cisthene.
It isn’t true they all died.

Imagine the men who entered the cave, found love in the dark.
Imagine the men who braved the forest, found my lips.
Imagine the men who found my lips.