Warm blood around a spear

The wooden boards
press spinal
into her back. Achilles is
faceless, head                 disconnected
from the chest beneath it,
hair,     the curls of sky.

Briseis is           moonless. She slips
inside his neck
as the ship
carries her far from home,
beaten by the waves
into a crown of pain.
The joints between
her fingers slide and click like
two sides of a fastened breastplate,
his breath against her
wet with fruit.
The ship quakes, then
silence.
Warm blood around a spear.

In my apartment
Achilles pours
gas station rum
into a cup of root
beer. The condensation
wets his palms, drips darkly
on my skirt.      Summer
air presses my side and              each hair
on my arm sways
gold. When Achilles
smiles               I am gum peeled,
foil crumpled, spearmint
flesh                  chewed until
flavorless. I smile back,
eyes closing like a pair of fists.

Elizabeth Theriot is a queer Southern writer with Ehlers-Danlos Syndrome. She earned her MFA from The University of Alabama and is writing a memoir about disability and desire. She is a Zoeglossia Fellow and a teaching fellow with the nonprofit Desert Island Supply Company. You can find her work in Yemassee, Barely South Review, Winter Tangerine, Ghost Proposal, Vagabond City, A VELVET GIANT, Tinderbox, and others. She lives in Birmingham, AL.