The Sand Hill Review               http://www.sandhillreview.org 2009

The New Mythology

The New Mythology does not exist. I know it the minute my foot leaves the curb. We have myths, but no -ology. Maybe some lady really did try to dry her freshly-washed poodle/cat/bird by putting it in the microwave (snopes.com has a lot of variations) but either way, how does this explain any enduring conundrum? We see myth-worthy events every day––the last-minute swerve, the miraculous rescue––but who will retell them? After one rabbit escapes one quick-toothed crocodile, all bunnies are born with a powderpuff behind. For every constellation, there is one heroic warrior or noble Indian princess or reincarnated beast forever circling the sky. But when I lift one foot from the curb and am halted by the whine of a speeding convertible, when my quick-witted foot saves not only my own life but that of the Narcissistic driver and all the innocent souls that surround us, the stars neither brighten nor dim. The sharp swerve, the harsh splutter of internal combustion as the car luches toward its next opportunity for mishap, mean nothing in the world of brass plaques. Here, my cold witness would proclaim from the poured-concrete face of the bank, a foot winged as Pegasus saved… No, the whole corner is fenced for construction, mere days since the driver sped away. Human eyes barely noticed. Nobody sang. My foot did not wait for a new green light. I walked on the old to the other side, where I arrived safe, already shedding the fright. Helios pulled the sun across the sky. That night, Orion hunted; Pandora's box shut tight, too late; Hope hovered for the next bright dawn. One day I might learn what precipitous event left our own right thumbs "dialing" telephones, whose flight of fancy made dryers that necessitate a Singles Bar for wayward socks, why mythology is now finite, how even the infinite stars, definitely beyond our influence, are fading in our artificial light.

Eve Sutton