The Ogre’s Daughters

Sh. It’s the ogre again. You knew he would come,
him or another, our Mother’s hurt, our illness.
Lie still under Granny Gaia’s tattered skirt of
sky and listen. She has a way of pulling
tales out of him that he can’t resist. He’s so full of
HimSelf, he has to tell what he knows, things
like why blood is salty but salt in wounds still stings?
“‘The Blood is the life,’ but life,” he smirks, “is a fault;”
or why everyone in a family is dying by
thirty: an unreturned cup of sugar borrowed.
With him, it’s hard to judge what’s truth or tricks.
He picks stuff up when he goes sneaking around to
make him look Mighty! Profound! because he’s weak.
So he preys on the weaker; for loot, he murdered our Mother.
But when Gran asks for an answer: how to help the
daughters’ works prosper, he lets out a yelp, crying, “Slaughter!”
The dread-wormed idol wants sacrifice, can be bought.

Do you remember when we were small believing his
claims to be a hero? But he always
stank, peugh, rank. Tomorrow, while he’s out thieving and
thugging, we’ll get away. He’d really kill us
if he could, as you warned, but still, I’m not sorry we
had to make sense of an ogre story. The least the
beast can do is teach us to love one another.

And we have become geometers of sorrow – but
oh, to discover that suffering has no circumference.

***

Known for her musical storytelling craft, Becca Menon is an American writer and translator whose works, often based in myth, fairy tale, folklore or Scripture have been hailed internationally from the U.K. and India to the Middle East, as well as in the U.S.  Shorter pieces appear in publications such as Parnassus, Mezzo Cammin, Poetry Life & Times, Antiphon and others.  Come listen to actors read selected works and discover some surprises at www.BeccaBooks.com.