On the day it happened, Medusa was in a rush.
Her priestess robe was rumpled and she couldn’t find her brush.
But whom across Olympus’ bound would look at a wrinkled cloth when the fairest of the Gorgon sisters was around?
Oh, to catch a glimpse of her emerald eyes but once!
Her mother, sensing the hurricane of a girl in her room, called out:
The name rolled soft on her tongue: mé-doo-saah!
What in Gaia’s name are you doing?
I’m late, Mother, I’m late for Athena’s temple, as she sprang out into the field, trailing oil and flowers.
Be careful, her mother called after her. Be careful!
Stay out of the path of the gods!
But Medusa was already on her way,
her long, golden hair twisting in the wind.