-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.