Page 13 of Styx

like the cliffs they played on,

hands like bedrock.

None of them wanted

to play with an older sister,

which suited me.

I liked the pleasure

of my own company.

But late at night

while my brothers

snored in their rooms,

growing the way divinity grows,

quickly, quicker than me.

I would put my arms

around myself in my bed,

trying to remember

what my mother’s embrace

felt like back

when I was her only child.

Back when it was just

her and me.

The Potamoi

My brothers looked a little like me.

Some were born with ivory bull horns

or with the golden tails of fish.

Others had bodies made of sea rock.

Some even had sharp fangs

and looked even more serpentine than me.

Yet while my features were considered

graceless, or even, as I had overheard

an unkind aunt say, Styx is so unsightly,