—Poetry by Arshi Mortuza, Toronto, Canada
EVE GETS EVICTED
To Him, it was just a terrarium on a countertop.
But for me, it was Eden in a glass bowl.
Finding home within his home décor.
He preached about shame.
But I only knew it by name—
Finding modesty in nakedness.
To Him, it was a pet worm
That had gone astray.
But for me, it was a monstrous serpent.
He watched it slither into the terrarium
And whisper sweet nothings in my ear—
Waiting for just the right moment
To banish me from here.
You see, he preached about knowledge—
But I am only rib, and no brain.
Yet when I gave into temptation,
I was the first to get blamed.
Now my sins are smeared
All over the page.
I’m an open book, really.
Feels like I’m back in his terrarium
All over again.
To Him, it was just a terrarium on a countertop.
But for me, it was Eden in a glass bowl.
Finding home within his home décor.
He preached about shame.
But I only knew it by name—
Finding modesty in nakedness.
To Him, it was a pet worm
That had gone astray.
But for me, it was a monstrous serpent.
He watched it slither into the terrarium
And whisper sweet nothings in my ear—
Waiting for just the right moment
To banish me from here.
You see, he preached about knowledge—
But I am only rib, and no brain.
Yet when I gave into temptation,
I was the first to get blamed.
Now my sins are smeared
All over the page.
I’m an open book, really.
Feels like I’m back in his terrarium
All over again.
CLEOPATRA LIES
I laid down to die among snakes
Spawn from the severed head of a
Serpent-haired monster.
Feeling less alone with their slithers across my skin.
Using their coiling icy bodies for warmth.
They lie to me if I need them to;
Hiss lullabies in my ear of how
I am goddess Isis incarnate—
Healing. Magic. Life.
HERA GOES TO THE SUPERMARKET
She checks the expiration dates
on the organic ambrosia and gluten-free nectar
before tossing them in the cart.
She buys them in bulk to avoid returning soon and
to save herself the humiliation of grocery
shopping for an infidel.
And if that’s not bad enough,
Every now and then she would run into one of her
husband’s conquests.
One time, there was Leda scanning the poultry
section.
Ganymede holding a box of Trojans.
Worst was when Semele was caught buying some-
thing for indigestion.
It was obvious Zeus had fed her a heart.
A performance mortal bimbos seemed to fall for.
“One day you’ll see him for what he really is,”
Hera warned Semele that day.
“He is just gaslighting you!”
Today she bumped carts with Medusa, who was
in to pick up Snake Oil for her hair.
Hera grew suspicious of Medusa’s averting gaze
and let out a laugh.
“You too?! You with my husband?!”
“No, but his brother—“ Medusa started in a raspy
voice and reluctant tone.
“Oh! That makes sense. I mean I get the women,
and even those men—but picturing him with
a creature like you?
That would have been rock bottom for me.”
Medusa sighs.
“Screw it” she mutters—
and looks Hera in the eyes.
“Screw it” she mutters—
and looks Hera in the eyes.
MEDUSA’S SPA DAY
Cover her eyes
with cucumber slices—
It would be inappropriate to be stoned during
the job.
Give her an anti-aging facial—
as victim-blaming and
slut-shaming
have really become quite archaic.
Recommend a hot stone massage—
just for the irony.
And for Zeus’s sake—
the woman is due
for a new hairdo.
Remove that serpent mane—
and preserve the snake extensions
for our next client, Athena.
Weave Medusa any hairstyle she likes—
pixie-cut blonde,
wavy balayage,
layered brunette
or perhaps red ringlets.
Tell her she looks beautiful—
Without holding up a mirror
to her face.
Pamper her hands with
Moisturizer and a manicure—
for they will need their strength
to carry the heads
of Poseidon and Perseus.
Give her an anti-aging facial—
as victim-blaming and
slut-shaming
have really become quite archaic.
Recommend a hot stone massage—
just for the irony.
And for Zeus’s sake—
the woman is due
for a new hairdo.
Remove that serpent mane—
and preserve the snake extensions
for our next client, Athena.
Weave Medusa any hairstyle she likes—
pixie-cut blonde,
wavy balayage,
layered brunette
or perhaps red ringlets.
Tell her she looks beautiful—
Without holding up a mirror
to her face.
Pamper her hands with
Moisturizer and a manicure—
for they will need their strength
to carry the heads
of Poseidon and Perseus.
MEDUSA CHECKS INTO A WOMEN’S SHELTER
She walks up to the counter—
barefoot and battered,
refusing eye contact with the receptionist,
sporting a fresh hairdo from Slither Salon.
The serpent weave feeling tight and itchy,
spirit broken,
a baby bump forming around her neck,
eyes secreting pebbles in place of tears.
Should’ve prayed to Aphrodite instead.
She walks up to the counter—
barefoot and battered,
refusing eye contact with the receptionist,
sporting a fresh hairdo from Slither Salon.
The serpent weave feeling tight and itchy,
spirit broken,
a baby bump forming around her neck,
eyes secreting pebbles in place of tears.
Should’ve prayed to Aphrodite instead.
GHOSTED BY THE COLOR GREEN
I took a walk with the color green.
She led me through lush fields.
In casual, calculated ways,
Tried to make sense of my blueness.
I searched for common ground
By recounting times I’ve felt
Inadequate or replaced and summoned
Flashes of emerald in my eyes.
Green couldn’t relate.
Her fingers grazed the shrubs as she
Harmonized with the songs of birds
Whose names I’ll never learn.
Her zest for life made me green with
Nausea, repulsion, and cringe.
I’m zesty too, but like lime.
She scattered hydrangea seeds
As we cut our walk short.
In desperation, I tell her of starchy
She led me through lush fields.
In casual, calculated ways,
Tried to make sense of my blueness.
I searched for common ground
By recounting times I’ve felt
Inadequate or replaced and summoned
Flashes of emerald in my eyes.
Green couldn’t relate.
Her fingers grazed the shrubs as she
Harmonized with the songs of birds
Whose names I’ll never learn.
Her zest for life made me green with
Nausea, repulsion, and cringe.
I’m zesty too, but like lime.
She scattered hydrangea seeds
As we cut our walk short.
In desperation, I tell her of starchy
Unripe apples I’ve bitten into.
If they all saw it the way I do,
We might still have paradise.
I mention my gangrened loves—
Clotted wounds I keep recycling.
She nodded like the shrinks
Who have made crispy, green bills—
Thanks to my blueness.
Green is diplomatic, demure—
As we part ways, she says
“We should do this again sometime.”
I instantly know that nothing green
Stays for long and I am about to be
Ghosted by the color green.
____________________
Today’s LittleNip:
Sometimes, not even folding yourself into the smallest, littlest shape is enough. So you might as well stay the size you're supposed to be.
―Jessie Burton, Medusa
____________________
Newcomer Arshi Mortuza, a Toronto-based poet with roots in Bangladesh, holds a BA and two MAs in English Literature. She is the author of One Minute Past Midnight (2022) and is currently working on her second poetry collection. Welcome to the Kitchen, Arshi, and don’t be a stranger!
“Medusa’s Spa Day” was previously published in the comic anthology, on:LINE (#4), and “Medusa Checks into a Women’s Shelter” appeared on 50-Word Stories (50wordstories.com/).
____________________
—Medusa
If they all saw it the way I do,
We might still have paradise.
I mention my gangrened loves—
Clotted wounds I keep recycling.
She nodded like the shrinks
Who have made crispy, green bills—
Thanks to my blueness.
Green is diplomatic, demure—
As we part ways, she says
“We should do this again sometime.”
I instantly know that nothing green
Stays for long and I am about to be
Ghosted by the color green.
____________________
Today’s LittleNip:
Sometimes, not even folding yourself into the smallest, littlest shape is enough. So you might as well stay the size you're supposed to be.
―Jessie Burton, Medusa
____________________
Newcomer Arshi Mortuza, a Toronto-based poet with roots in Bangladesh, holds a BA and two MAs in English Literature. She is the author of One Minute Past Midnight (2022) and is currently working on her second poetry collection. Welcome to the Kitchen, Arshi, and don’t be a stranger!
“Medusa’s Spa Day” was previously published in the comic anthology, on:LINE (#4), and “Medusa Checks into a Women’s Shelter” appeared on 50-Word Stories (50wordstories.com/).
____________________
—Medusa
Arshi Mortuza
A reminder that
Zoe Byron will read in
Salida today, 12noon;
and tonight, 6pm,
there will be a tribute to
Phil Goldvarg at
Sacramento Poetry Center.
For info about these and other
future poetry happenings in
Northern California and otherwheres,
click on
UPCOMING NORCAL EVENTS
(http://medusaskitchen.blogspot.com/p/wtf.html)
in the links at the top of this page—
and keep an eye on this link and on
the daily Kitchen for happenings
that might pop up
—or get changed!—
during the week.
Photos in this column can be enlarged by
clicking on them once, then clicking on the x
in the top right corner to come back to Medusa.
Poets’ bios appear on their first MK visit.
To find previous posts, type the name
of the poet (or poem) into the little
beige box at the top left-hand side
of this column. See also
Medusa’s Rapsheet at the bottom
of the blue column on the right
side of this column to find
any date you want.
Miss a post?
You can find our most recent ones by
scrolling down under this daily one.
Or there's an "Older Posts" button
at the bottom of this column.
(Please excuse typos in older posts!
Blogspot has been through a lot of
incarnations in 20 years!)
Would you like to be a SnakePal?
Guidelines are at the top of this page
at the Placating the Gorgon link;
send poetry and/or photos and artwork
to kathykieth@hotmail.com. We post
work from all over the world—including
that which was previously published—
and collaborations are welcome.
Just remember:
the snakes of Medusa are always hungry—
for poetry, of course!
Zoe Byron will read in
Salida today, 12noon;
and tonight, 6pm,
there will be a tribute to
Phil Goldvarg at
Sacramento Poetry Center.
For info about these and other
future poetry happenings in
Northern California and otherwheres,
click on
UPCOMING NORCAL EVENTS
(http://medusaskitchen.blogspot.com/p/wtf.html)
in the links at the top of this page—
and keep an eye on this link and on
the daily Kitchen for happenings
that might pop up
—or get changed!—
during the week.
Photos in this column can be enlarged by
clicking on them once, then clicking on the x
in the top right corner to come back to Medusa.
Poets’ bios appear on their first MK visit.
To find previous posts, type the name
of the poet (or poem) into the little
beige box at the top left-hand side
of this column. See also
Medusa’s Rapsheet at the bottom
of the blue column on the right
side of this column to find
any date you want.
Miss a post?
You can find our most recent ones by
scrolling down under this daily one.
Or there's an "Older Posts" button
at the bottom of this column.
(Please excuse typos in older posts!
Blogspot has been through a lot of
incarnations in 20 years!)
Would you like to be a SnakePal?
Guidelines are at the top of this page
at the Placating the Gorgon link;
send poetry and/or photos and artwork
to kathykieth@hotmail.com. We post
work from all over the world—including
that which was previously published—
and collaborations are welcome.
Just remember:
the snakes of Medusa are always hungry—
for poetry, of course!
