Conversation in the Weeds
By Jordyn Perazzo
April 15, 2024
April 15, 2024
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To tell you the truth, I never much liked snakes,
Not even the little ones living in the garden Twined up in the tomato vines — “harmless” They say, but I’m sure that’s half lie, half truth. See, I’ve never met a harmless thing. Don’t be Fooled just ‘cause it hasn’t decided yet to kill you-- That’s the best advice I have to give you. Works for everything: fast food, cigarettes, men, snakes-- There, back again. Mama always said it’s natural to be Wary of snakes, since that business in The Garden, But I’m weary of women falling, of overlooking what is true To tell a simpler story. A story wrongly told is never harmless So let’s tell one now: of a woman of great harm, less Than human, god chased, god raped, god cursed. You Know her name: Medusa. Punished by Athena who ignored truth And pain. Cast a villain for millennia, a head of snakes Condemning her alone, only company a garden Of stone. Medusa, Gorgon. Medusa, Monster. But at least she’ll be Safe cursed: no man can touch her again. (This faith will be Her undoing.) So when Perseus comes, of course he is harmless. Even as he flits on winged feet, she plots his place in the garden —but nothing is ever harmless: heroes, promises, mirrored bronze, you Telling only half the story: the eyes of stone, the head of snakes, The fashions of misplaced blame. I’m not trying to spin you some untruth: To tell the story whole is to tell the story true. That’s the problem with prophecies maybe, Some of that Delphic smoke got swallowed by the snake Before Apollo slayed it. Defective oracle, totally harmless Right? Missing meter, misassembled destiny, can you Hear it? Come stand with me here in the garden-- It all started in the Garden and maybe it’ll end in the garden Under blue sky, between the tomato vines, unfolding true As the black ribbons wriggling in the mud under the stone you Pick up. They disappear back into the earth before Any moves are made. You are not harmless But today you have decided not to kill any snakes Sitting here in the garden. It is still true I don’t like snakes, But you are right: enough suffering, enough harm — less Blood, less tragedy is what we need — what a kinder story could be. |
Jordyn Perazzo (she/her) is a writer from southeastern Oklahoma. Her work has previously appeared in the journal Frontier Mosaic and is forthcoming from Riot Ghoul and midsummer magazine. She can be found on Instagram @per.jordyn liking poetry (and probably dogs).
Author's Note:
I was a child with my hands always clasped behind my back, a little girl who knew never to touch. I think it’s fitting, then, that as an adult I am constantly turning things over—baubles, stories, memories, myths. “Conversation in the Weeds” is a turning over of one version of the Medusa myth, of Eden, of ideas of violence and helplessness and agency. Moreover, sestinas are tricky and twisty; they ask you to look at the same words again and again and take something new. The poem itself echoes this call, which was maybe only a little on purpose (the first draft, anyway). It ends with the assertions you are not harmless either, dear reader, but you can choose to do no more harm. Kindness is a lesson I know I am learning every day, particularly when it means choosing to be kind to myself.