kate gale

Ashland MFA Faculty

Aidos

For Greeks “aidos” was a fear for oneself and one’s place 
in the world if one did not act rightly. 
We have come to translate this word as “shame.” 

God watches you from heaven.
Sees the snail you squished; the fly you distributed across the wall.

I act wisely. Do not kick dogs or punish horses.  
Open doors.  

But God does not watch me. Not 
when stones pile up. Not 

when the first stone hits. Nor 
when I am surrounded, dragged from the village. What is God doing?

Puffing air in the heavens.  
While I feel shame. 

For having brought the stones 
to my door. I said the words. I gathered derision. Heaped

stones in piles. Invited the crowd. When 
they began to jostle 

to throw rocks over hand,
underhand, what could I say?

Except God? Are you watching now?
Now? Now?

MEDUSA’S COOKBOOK

Thin layers of pastry
like grasshopper’s wings
salt
almond paste
nutmeg
cloves—an unopened flower bud
cinnamon—a spiraled brown quill
honey
crushed nuts

THE PROBLEM WITH WOMEN IS DESIRE

I hide in the woods, wash in the stream, 
collect shadows around me, dead leaves, find an upturned tree, 
make a house on one side of it with branches.  

At birdsong, I bathe, comb my hair with my hands, 
began to feel holy again. Begin to feel whole.  
They come for me. 

She is unclean, they say. 
She lured Poseidon into the temple. 
She moved carnally among the ancient pillars.  

She rubbed salt into her skin to smooth it, oil into her hair; 
she wanted a man. What woman cries out?
I cry out when they chase me through the woods.

A trampling of horse hooves, a staining of blood 
as they pull me up through the branches and sky onto a horse.
I am taken to the cave and cursed; the sun is shining.  

The gods laugh—their night among whores, women who wanted it. 
The problem with women is desire. The problem with women 
is they do not know when to sit down. When to shut up.  

I am thrown into silence. 
I dream of beaches, lovers, waves, crowns of flowers.  
I dream of petals, of lips.  

In my cave at night, I see stars. The stars know evil. 
As a girl, I sashayed around the house, 
opening my fan, practicing my dance, drinking star fruit juice.  

I drink starlight, make my home here by the sea,
live on fish, eggs, air, make music out of clapping.  
I drink the sea and song. The cave is not my prison cell; 

the cave is my wet home, my querencia. 
In one story, I gave Perseus a head, a story, 
something to ride home with.

I’m swimming now in the stars 
watching the moon below me combing light
along the beaches. I’m watching you now.

KATE GALE IS CO-FOUNDER AND MANAGING EDITOR OF RED HEN PRESS, AUTHOR OF SEVEN BOOKS OF POETRY AND SIX LIBRETTOS INCLUDING RIO DE SANGRE WHICH WAS PERFORMED AT THE FLORENTINE OPERA.