My Medea
Creams, gels, and serums like Medea
plucking from her potion drawer
panaceas for a week of work and more
as we sip on nightcaps of sangria.
She asks, “How’s your face been feeling?
Is it with oils or dryness you’ve been dealing?”
We scrub and cleanse with powdered polisher.
She blots my cheeks with Thayer’s facial toner.
Exfoliants with the water alchemize.
A fingertip of retinol for cell turnover.
Hyaluronic acid for the undereyes.
A wash, with glycerin, to moisturize.
My wife, my priestess, with her pharmakon,
her vials and charms that keep me young,
concocts the drugs that purge the toxins out,
and breathes, in bed, her spells into my mouth.
How to parse this one? Medea is the speakers wife. Is he then Jason? Medea was a witch - a medicine woman - able at magic. So the treatments are not cosmetics but potions? Medea was only destructive after betrayal. But no sense here of betrayal, or fear. Strangely, it reads like a love poem, mostly due to the due to the last image of breathing in spells in bed. And the skin treatments seem entirely benevolent, though you wonder why the speaker needs so much help with his complexion. I suppose part of the impact is a sense of what a successful marriage with Medea would be, A kind of entry into the witchcraft and so, unlike Jason, being safe within it. Thank you for this. The poem walks carefully. I like it.
I knew it. You’re actually 230 years old. All that “new romantic” stuff makes a lot more sense now. Do you still manipulate your poi balls? Gotta keep that body toned to match the timeless face.