Butterfly Press

Monster
Aldora Cole
2024

Its not difficult to see a monster.
The subconscious archive is vast and open access.
How democratic. How syncretic.
How hard it works to draw up irregularity and ugliness from deep wells of tales as old as time,
flashing Gorgons, and Dragons, and flesh eating Mares
and the petrifying power of Medusa’s stares
and a Canaanite storm god’s rein of terror
on 6000 years of sociological error.

Its easy for girls to see monsters.
They dance in masks around fires after dark,
in shadows cast on walls built up
around sacred, intangible softness.
They howl and rail and beat against the stone:
Demanding    vacuity
Chanting   ambiguity
Selling      continuity

Noise cancelling headphones are a welcome invention
But why aren’t they working?
Archives are supposed to be quiet.
Librarians are supposed to be women.
Monsters are supposed to be ancient.

They don’t exist.
Ignore them.
Continue.
Accept.
Disappear.
Erase.
Forget
what you heard your ancestors say about your ancestors.

Delphyne did her best to guard the oracle but Apollo killed her.
Lampon’s meal was flesh, but she didn’t measure up—Zues
rejected her as sacrifice, sending wolves to kill her.

Eat Christ’s flesh and drink his blood.
Overcome.
No. Die.
Be crucified.
Sacrifice. Now resurrect.
Which is it? Decide.
Schizophrenia? Or Suicide?

Its not hard to see a monster in the well.
Things become so clear when you’re trying not to drown,
Holding your breath and head above the surface,
Invoking every name greater than yourself,
splashing
gasping
bargaining
blaming
outsourcing
praying
not to be hideous.

“don’t look down”
“keep your eyes upon Jesus”
(on Preston Manning)
(on Trump)
(not on Trudeau)
(Definitely not Trudeau)

But girls do look down,
and its not hard to see a monster.