Oedipus
I took you as my bride,
my queen, my prize.
I came to your room
to breathe in
your hair’s orange scent
and to touch the fine lines
around your round eyes
and all the blood rushed.
You opened your arms
opened your mouth
saw me
a full-grown man
not like those back home
who viewed me solely
as a crippled child.
I wanted to be
surrounded by you
to be
inside you, hear you cry out
your jagged breathing
when I sucked your breast
I wanted you
the only woman
I could ever, truly love
• • •
Celia Meade is a writer and painter from Salt Spring Island, Canada. Her work has appeared in Brushfire, Euphony, Plainsongs, The Louisville Review, Perceptions Magazine, Whistling Shade and Sheila-na-gig. She studies in the master’s program at Sarah Lawrence College in New York, under the guidance of Marie Howe.