Among the Gorgons

For Eleanor For seventeen years I was caught in the surf. Drubbed and scoured, I’d snatch a breath and be jerked down again, dragged across broken shells and shingle. I loved it, mostly, the need, how I fed the frantic. I’d skipped into that sea. Certainly not a girl, but I could still turn a head as I took the foam between my thighs. Then it was over. Hiss of a match snuffed with spit. The sea had trotted off. I stood in the stink of flapping fish. At first it stung. A galaxy of dimes eyed my sag and crinkles and dismissed me like a canceled stamp, but something tugged at me, silver braids weaving and unweaving themselves and either the path was shrinking or I was getting bigger, for soon the way was just a hair, the extra bit of wit a grandma leaves on her chin to scare the boys, and it led me into a cave crackling like a woodstove with laughter. A landslide opened a seam of rubies and we stepped inside.