MEDUSA I
Was standing under a tree, unbraiding the hair.
Butcher’s broom had dried out. The branches caught fire. Could have been lightning, could’ve been a torch. It is burning.
Was standing under the tree, unbraiding the hair. The braids were no longer needed. Sparks were falling from the tree: setting the hair on fire, leaving tongues behind them. Burning tongues.
Was standing under the tree, feeding the tongues. Feeding them hatred and cold meat. The tongues sizzled and curled up, crawling into the mouth of vipers. The vipers grew instead of burned hair – they fear neither fire, nor lightnings, nor torches. They are themselves fire, lightnings, torches. What will you do to me now?
Serpents.
Was standing under the tree, looking at these serpents. Was looking how they lose their human form. How their serpent hearts turn to stone, how their serpent skin covers with she-et metal .
A serpent is not a human a human is not a serpent. They are afraid to look me in the eye. But you…take a look.
The play was written during the Dom Tvorcau Art Residency in Warsaw, January-February, 2022.