Persephone Writes to Her Mother
Tara Mae Mulroy
Mother, he is a gentleman.
He is a builder with bricks of moonlight.
He knows the secret places of the earth.
He washes the sleep from the eyes of the souls.
He lets them look on beauty.
He lets them tell him they hate him.
In the mornings, I gather berries and apples.
I scrub his back with rind.
I weave spider-spit, eyelash.
He talks in his sleep: pudding, fire, discus,
the things he misses.
He breathes, Your body is my orchard.
I am undulating grass.
I am a field of wheat he parts with his fingers.
Poppies bloom in my veins.
When he kisses me, he tastes pomegranate.
The night crawls nearer.
The moans of the dead roll and swell.
Mother, we are well.
An alternate take on the myth of Persephone, Demeter and Hades.
Thank you so much to The Hairpin for featuring this blog and hi to all the new readers! It’s basically the most exciting thing to ever happen around here. Basically.
On this day in:
2013: Hook, James Wright
2012: How to Build an Owl, Kathleen Lynch
2011: Expecting, Kevin Young
2010: The Choir, Luke Kennard
2009: I Come Home Wanting To Touch Everyone, Stephen Dunn
2008: Visible World, Richard Siken
2007: Anywhere Else, Maggie Dietz
2006: After Work, Richard Jones
2005: The Sheep-Child, James Dickey