he only looks at Helen now

the boy who prays,
the boy missing a shoe, the boy in a gold cloak,
and the one I’ve already kissed:
Helen, who stares at me. the Trojan War
excites the Gods, they’re just like us,
what a sad existence
equating apples to
beauty and bizarre love
triangles,
though one more drunk stare
from Golden Boy makes me think
he needs an apple more
than anything. I’m rubbing
shoulders with a blonde whose catchphrase
relies on reminding everyone she should sleep
on top of them; no one returns
her eye contact. it must have been shitty
to be married to Zeus. in the distance,
a swan winks at me
and I remember
watching movies with my high
school crush
about Greek Mythology but he always stared
at my head while I memorized
the stories. I asked
how he broke his foot and he asked
me to show him a boob. just another
Achilles.
Helen asks me
where my people are really from
and I lift up my dark, mismatched
split ends, wondering
whose prophecy am I fulfilling?
when the party’s over,
we use a bed as a raft
to hide
from the burning floor and I
don’t think the Gods
will let me leave.

Catalina Adragna is twenty-three years old and pursuing an MFA in poetry at Rutgers University, with an undergrad at Bennington College where she studied Poetry and Drama. She has previous publications in Silo Magazine. She is a Gemini and a pocha. Her Twitter: @catadragna.

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