-1Medea in the form of Amanda Jo Stott-Smith on the Sellwood Bridge
once moved through her body
like a gust of salty air;
pulled through her limbs like blood in her veins,
turning her bones to rotting brick.
Once, lovers coyly striped each
like the sea pulls back on earths boundaries,
her children curled
inside her womb, she is un-reminded
of the shape they took within her,
still a part of her,
un-parted; a partnership, though
now, at the top of the Sellwood Bridge
they have become a burden.
hands scurry, eyes dart
beneath the moonlight, the water
is a blur of black bending, stretching
surf over their shadows.
child is slung over, sections of air
pull white hot breath from small lungs, kissed
by the surface with an unusual splash.
the sun rises, she is atop of parking
lot roof; feet dramatically ebbing the precipice,
a nefarious truth, blue as any scalding nightmare.