“The Minotaur Visits His Mother”—Belletrist Magazine
My
mother
cuts my meat
for me, the knife
sinking in the turkey,
and I’m in the maze again,
playing what I thought was a
game as the two of us chased the
children of Attica. She cut my meat
for me then, too. That first girl cornered
and screaming until it didn’t seem like a game
anymore. My mother turning with blood on her
knife saying “Honey, don’t cry, have something to
eat, you’ll feel better.” I’ve learned “better” when my
mother says it means human. “Something to eat” meant
human, too. She hands me the plate and the weight of it
shocks me back to my body standing in my mother’s
kitchen with her eyes on me. “It’s nice of you to
visit,” she says. “I don’t see enough of you
anymore. I almost wish I could keep
you here—lock the door.” And
she chuckles as if captivity
were an inside joke. I
eat my turkey and
do feel a little
better.
