by Patricia Ace

2nd Place in the 2006 William Soutar Writing Prize

You've cut out my tongue,
my Argonaut.

Silenced by your absence,
I'm set adrift in the doldrums
that stretch between the text
you permit, like holes in fabric,
worried at, un-mended.

So you take leave on another
journey, the far-flung four corners
calling to your wander-lust,
you need to be a hero,
your honour.

My tongue pinned to your prow,
pink-grey, tentacular, stitching
its stories in papyrus sails,
spitting its tales to the rigging.

I stand on the strand and watch
from the mainland the hull of your bark
slice the waves,
scissors through canvas.

Blood fills my mouth like ink.
I turn away to look for our sons.

Jason and Medea