I want to know: the first time when Zeus turned himself into a bird, did you buy the lie of his helplessness?
You must have because you married him.
I too married a wounded bird. So too did my mother and my mother's mother's mother before me; too often did those birds come with a nest of eggs or hapless hatchlings that grew into more mothers caring for more wounded birds.
Ah, but was Zeus a pretty bird? He must have been.
I wonder if he was a rainbow macaw; I've always been fond of cockatoos. Perhaps, he was a robin, or maybe even a grey cockatiel.
Was he the mourning mate of a lovebird pair that you felt sorry for? Perhaps he had the beautiful voice of a swallow.
Did he tell you about Metis? He swallowed her like a fly, an insect that lands on shit, that mortals kill without remorse. She was a nuisance to him. He sought to quash her.
Isn't that misogyny, in its grandest form, a woman made solely for male consumption?
Zeus never did anything half-assed, did he?
Neither did the man I married.
The unconstrained virility of married men and subsequent infidelities are ill-conceived.
Io, after all, Zeus turned into a cow.
Leto made to suffer.
While you chose vengeance in true Greek fashion, I, American, ran for the sanctity of Appalachian hills.
What of your years of harmony and bliss? Why would you stay faithful to a man who cheats at every passing whim?
How can I judge when I've done the same?
Don't get me wrong: I tried to create my own Hephaestus. My endeavor had the same results.
Both your statues are missing heads now; your bodies only testify to the power you once held in your union. Decapitated lovers. Even your lion's head is gone.
Is that the price of your fidelity?
About the Creator
бетани
Before I ever aspired to be an academic, I breathed words. In them, I found worlds of possibility and solace. Alongside conversation, I have imagination.
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