Athena by Clare Woodring 

I thought I wanted a daughter. 
And so I did.
She sprouted from my cranium.
Body armor and all.
My concept became divine conception.

A motherless child, she was.
Sharp as a spear.
Sturdy as a shield.
Hera would not claim her.
I don’t think she minded.

A father, I could not be.
She must stomp on her own spiders.
Just as she bested the weaver.
Who mocked us gods with tapestry.
Now, Arachne may only spin webs.

I won't kill her snakes for her either.
She handled that in Poseidon’s temple.
With serpents for hair.
Her head on the floor.
Medusa need not purchase a comb.

I gifted her the brightest mind.
As she emerged from my own.
A cerebral creature.
Whose wit is unmatched.
In Olympus, she earned a throne.

I often worry about my creation.
Her genesis without warmth of a womb.
Much too cold inside.
She pierces me with those icy eyes.
“I think I love you, My Child.”

Clare Woodring is an eighteen-year-old writer from Boonsboro, Maryland. She is attending Hagerstown Community College, where she is taking a writing class elective as she completes her degree.