please don't die

mythos

they accuse persephone in the end
for if a harvest crescent will streak across
a void sky and an anemic glow lights up the
edges of a blackened fingernail they all
suppose it isn't the fault of the depths
but is rather that of the light's.
(victim blaming is a prehistoric pastime.)

the edges of spring's fawn skinned
collarbones pool with her own salt tears
and flowers wither on the bottoms of her feet
as her mother's knees scrape themselves
on the rocks of olympus;
to hades springtime is only a flower to be
picked, to zeus fertility is only
a woman to subjugate.

pomegranate seeds darken the vernal equinox
within her stomach and now they are growing
within her intestines, branching out
into chains that sound like wheels of a chariot
scraping the greenless ground.

demeter used to call upon the earth but now
stormwater trickles its course
down her dirt face
and softens all her purpose to mud.