Cover me In Ambrosia: A Poem
A diverging river flows through my delicate fingers,
tracing the lines of my palm like my mother once did.
On one side the river turns to silky gold,
gliding slowly along the imperfections of my skin.
I like to imagine this river pooling into a kantharos,
filling it to the brim with its rich golden hue.
I wish it would flow through my body like ambrosia,
Mend the wounds in my soul, and call upon my youth.
The diverging river flows from my hands to my body,
but the river of gold leaves only a trickle behind.
The larger side of the river turns to a murky sludge
and wraps me deep within its tainted liquid.
I wish this river would evaporate into the air,
leaving its role as a stifling Shirt of Nessus.
Instead I wait…
I wait trapped under a slurry of mud-stained hemlocks,
longing to be something more healing,
something more admirable,
something more like the very ambrosia,
we covered up and suffocated.
