The Price of Rent on Sarpedon by Marisca Pichette
58 lines
Issue 1 (Winter, February 2023)
Common mistake—Medusa had no sisters.
She met Stheno first, at a bar.
They drank shots of vermouth
knocked back merlot & absinthe
& chewed coconut shells
for dessert.
Medusa was an only child.
Medusa talked little of the past.
Medusa wore a necklace of pebbles
and stone rings on her fingers.
For months Stheno dined
between Medusa’s fleshy thighs.
Friday to Sunday they spent
at her apartment
or hers.
She and Stheno set their eyes
on the future & swore
to stay together
always.
Euryale wrote erotica in coffee shops
across Toronto & France.
Stheno met her on a residency in Sarpedon
flirting over almond milk lattes while rain
lashed the café windows.
She brought her home &
their hair tangled &
that’s how Medusa found them—
pooled between kitchen counter
and couch.
After that, they got tangled on purpose.
Euryale loved Stheno’s nipples.
Stheno loved Medusa’s hair.
Medusa loved Euryale’s lips,
and Stheno’s soft thighs.
It happened by accident
when they bought a house with
three baths
& one bedroom.
Euryale mentioned him on the patio
--her ex.
Stheno recognized him in her memory
--her ex.
Medusa knew him too
--their ex.
They’d tangled tighter
than a rat king
with Perseus in their pasts
twined between twisted lives.
Whatever happened to him? Euryale wondered.
Where is he now? Stheno pondered.
Medusa said nothing.
Not wishing—as she hung
her shield-shaped mirror
in their new bedroom
over a king-sized bed—
to disturb their perfect life
with trifles of
her past.