After Gustave Dore’s Andromeda, 1869 – by Marie C. Lecrivain

Her long hair is a flag of dissonance,
and raises the question, How does the serpent
coil so quickly within?
Her face is partly veiled
under the auburn waterfall,
so let’s dissect the rest of her body
poised in the curve of an aleph,
a comma, a single quote, or half a parentheses,
as if to say, Father god, ‘Please, HELP me).

Look at her delicate feet
shaped to the rocks,
right foot en pointe – or –
let’s pursue the dark thought,
a fulcrum to launch herself
into the jaws of the Kracken.

What would happen if she’d been permitted
to walk unfettered to that craggy boulder
crowned with seaweed and gnawed bones,
if she’d been able to dive into a moment
few of us ever will admit to; the crush,
and crunch of satiation annihilation brings.

The raised tips of her breasts might yield a clue,
and though we can’t see her eyes,
it’s clear she’s staring death
right in the face.


Marie C Lecrivain is the editor of poeticdiversity: the litzine of Los Angeles, the author of several volumes of poetry and fiction, and fledgling jewelry designer. Her work has appeared in Nonbinary Review, Gargoyle, The Los Angeles Review, Orbis, and many other journals. Her new chapbook, Fourth Planet From the Sun, will be published in late 2017 by Rum Razor Press.