Ariadne

By Tripp J Crouse

Her skills of weaving
golden thread
through the deepest deceit,
To feel each fiber
in the string. 
“My princess, my sister of Crete.”
Asterion,
named after the first king,
locked in a labyrinth
beneath the Palace of Knossos,
he releases a long breath, 
“This is light. This is darkness.
I grieved the best of us.”

A sacrifice to make her world, 
heroes to entreat, 
only for them to leave, 
each a badge of abandonment, 

worn like scars, seven stars, 
hang a constellation, 
a crown, in the sky,

while the nymph 
sways in the night.

tripp j crouse (they/them) is a niizh manidoowag (Two Spirit) Ojibwe-descended poet, spoken word performer, communications professional and recovering journalist. they hold a BA in English and Literature from Southern Illinois University. Their poetry is published in Yellow Medicine Review, oddball magazine, Zygote in my Coffee, and and Grassroots. They have poetry in a forthcoming issue beestung. tripp lives in Dzantik'i Heeni, colonially known as Juneau, Alaska.