Poetry & Prose

Medusa

Originally Published In “The ShortVine Journal” Spring 2022

I don't believe in the supernatural. 

In a park in New York,

under the stone shadow of Medusa, 

she read my runes.

The tiles tumbled on the bricks.

I wondered how many, many shoes had kissed this earth.

I don't believe in the supernatural. 

In my past, she said, I was told who I was. 

In my present, she said, I told others who I was. 

In my future, she said, I knew who I was, and so did they. 

I don't believe in the supernatural. 

She said; before the end of the year, I would find myself. 

In December, I took my new name. 

I,

I don't believe in the supernatural.