I was wisdom
once,
black as night.

Now they call me:
monster,
gorgon,
hideous-faced.

So I hide
behind this hissing curtain
of hair.

Lost
little ones,
breathe easy;
you are free
to not see.

But
what is a lonely
old lady to do?

I still wait
for some daughter,
some son,
so wounded by the world,
to seize these snakes
and part my locks wide.