The metallic stench of blood slicks the rock
and tickles the throat. No wonder snakes
suffocate the silence with their incessant hiss.
Some break away, alarmed by the cold kiss
of death; some curl and spiral, others loop
and tie themselves in knots. Spattered drupes
of carmine, like red snakes’ eyes, gleam –
Medusa no longer has the power to see.
Kim M. Russell, 25th October 2020
A poem I wrote for The Ekphrastic Review’s Medusa challenge but wasn’t selected, to which I’ve made a small change and am sharing with Poets and Storytellers United Writers’ Pantry.