
A woman flung her two children off the Sellwood Bridge in Portland a few days ago. "Eyes dart beneath the moonlight, the water is a blur of black bending, stretching surf over their shadows."
Rated: Fiction K+ - English - Poetry - Words: 167 - Reviews: 5 - Favs: 1 - Published: 05-24-09 - Status: Complete - id: 2676872
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-1Medea in the form of Amanda Jo Stott-Smith on the Sellwood Bridge
Jason
once moved through her body
like a gust of salty air;
he
pulled through her limbs like blood in her veins,
turning her
bones to rotting brick.
Once, lovers coyly striped each
other
like the sea pulls back on earths boundaries,
though
her children curled
inside her womb, she is un-reminded
of the
shape they took within her,
before birth,
still a part of
her,
un-parted; a partnership, though
now, at the top of
the Sellwood Bridge
they have become a burden.
Tiny
hands scurry, eyes dart
beneath the moonlight, the water
is a
blur of black bending, stretching
surf over their shadows.
Each
child is slung over, sections of air
pull white hot breath from
small lungs, kissed
by the surface with an unusual splash.
When
the sun rises, she is atop of parking
lot roof; feet dramatically
ebbing the precipice,
a nefarious truth, blue as any scalding
nightmare.
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