Peonies & Pomegranates: When Eve Meets Persephone

peonies & pomegranates: when eve meets persephone

Persephone meets Eve standing at the edge of the underworld

A fist full of soil

Persephone says,

Hello there

Eve says,

I thought

I might be able to see them

In the end,

Again.

Her hands unfurl and

Let the dirt fall

You smell like them

Do

You

Know?

You smell like the flowers

Left behind

In Eden.

And Eve turns to look at her then.

And it has been many centuries

For them both

But

Persephone recognizes the never fading gleam,

The twinkle in her eye

Birthed only from

The glazing nectar of

Forbidden fruit.

A mirror reflection

Of herself.

Two women who chose to

Give in

Honour

Their hunger

In hopes of a moments reprieve

From being devoured by their own

Longing.

Persephone says,

You must be

Eve

Eve flitches at her own name.

Merely says

Nothing grows here

And Persephone understands

Her heartbreak

Says

No.

I am sorry.

And Eve flinches at that too.

Breathes,

No

Whispers,

No more

Apologies

Here.

I have lived a life time of

Repentance.

And I

Am done with

All this

Asking for forgiveness

For things we are not to blame for.

For things we are not sorry for.

Persephone

Still scented with Eden’s greenery says

I know

And Eve looks at her with

More ache

Than doubt.

Let’s the goddess assure her

That

You do not have

To be sorry anymore

Here.

And she takes the woman's hand in hers.

Smeared with the kingdoms

Dirt.

A handful of miniscule stones

Ground to sand.

Caught beneath her nails.

Persephone can feel

Life rolling off the

Girl

In gentle waves.

Even here,

After,

She ought to have been

Drained.

As though

The only way to

Take her

Had been instead,

To drown her

Completely

In the sea of

Existance.

And she

Was still

Dripping.

I did not want

To go back

To a gilded cage.

Even if the bars were wound

In vines

And blossoms.

I just

Missed

The flowers.

Persephone sits with her

At the edge of the underworld.

Says

I know

And Eve

Is tired of a lifetime of

Biting her tongue.

What do you know

Of wanting

Persephone?

A Queendom in Spring.

A kingdom come fall.

A million miles below the ground,

When the frost strikes.

Do you know what it is like to be

Cold

Persephone?

To be exiled?

To be

Unwanted?

And it is Eve.

No malice and all

Curiosity.

And Persephone wishes

She could give her

The answers

She needs to be

At peace.

I know

Much of wanting

And the unwanting.

Persephone looks

Up

To

The ground

Above

They blame me

For the plague of

Cold and barren land

And Eve knows too

Well

They blame me

For the plague of

A lifetime of repentance

And Persephone knows too

Well

For paying the price

Of my spent desire.

And their contempt

Drips

Acidic

Into the soil

Eve picks at the dirt

Beneath her nails

As though

She can feel

The burning.

And replies

As though to say

How dare you want,

Woman,

More than what we have

Permitted you to have.

Don't be

Selfish

Persephone finishes for

Her

Own heart and fists

Twisting

Curling

Into themselves.

And Eve

Goes on.

As though to say

How dare you disobey

What you were told to be.

How dare you

Attempt to become

More

Than we have let you

Be.

Eve looks at Persephone then

And it has been many centuries

For them both

But

Eve recognizes the never fading gleam

The twinkle in her eye

Birthed only from

The glazing nectar of

Forbidden fruit

A mirror reflection

Of herself.

I was only

Hungry

Says Eve

I know

Says Persephone

And I did not know

What could stifle

My appetite.

I did not know

What I craved.

Just that

I was starving.

And that

Nothing

Was

Enough.

And he came to you

In your instability

And they both know this story

By heart.

And he said

Eat, love

If you would like

Only

If you would like

And he dropped it into your palms

And she can almost feel the weight in her hands.

Where it once rested,

Before it was digested,

And left for her to carry

In the pit of herself

For eternity.

And it smelt of sweet possibility

Eve inhales.

Though breath means

Nothing here.

But she does it anyways

For the sake of

Nostalgia.

And he gave you a fruit

And I brought it to my own lips

And he gave you a choice

And I laid it on my own tongue

Peresphone watches her

Mirror

Knowingly.

And you chose

To bite

To swallow

The consequences.

And it hangs between them.

Tangible.

Ripe.

And ready

To fall.

The culmination

Of two seeded

Choices

And it

Drops

Into

Persephone's lap

Persephone's palms

Persephone's mouth

And you would do it again

And the fruit always looks deceptively

Delectable

But the nectar

Of the truth

Is always

Bitter

And Eve cups her hands below

The goddesses chin

And lets the golden syrup

Accumulate

And

Sips

Yes

I would

Do it

Again

And they do not need to speak

To say:

If I was given the chance

The choice

To save myself

Again

I would do it

I would take it

Over

And

Over

And

Over

Again.

Because

I do not think

I could ever

Be sorry

For being

Hungry

And eating

Until

I was full

And Persephone

Nods

Understanding

The all consuming nature of

The desire to

Know.

I do not think

I could ever

Be sorry

For choosing to live

Over

Survive.

I was never

Sorry

Even when

They punished me for

Knowing

For wanting

For being something other than

A good girl

A docile daughter

And Eve laughs

And Persephone is struck

By how much the

Sound tastes of

Fresh bloom.

Have they ever met

Mother Nature

She is

No

Soft

Or

Submissive

Thing

And Persephone smiles then too

And Eve is struck

By how much the

Image looks like

The creation of

A universe.

My mother

Warned me

Her breath is breeze after

Rainfall

To be wary of bitter men

And their sweet offerings

Her gaze is an ocean

Rippling reflection

And my mother said

It is a dangerous game to play

Persephone

She is

The symphony

Of life.

And my father said,

Listen to me, Eve

And my mother said

Come home to me

Persephone

Or their will be consequences

You belong here

In the sun

In the garden

In my gaze

In my grasp

And they both

Know this story

By heart.

Muscle memory

Fear

Hate

Rage

Longing

Stillness.

And I thought,

I belong wherever

I please.

And I thought

I deserve

To know.

I thought

I will not be afraid

Of the dark.

I thought

I deserve

To eat.

I thought

I will not bow to death.

And Eve is looking at

Persephone.

And the reflection

Is cracking.

And instead

He lowered his brow

To brush his lips

Across your knuckles.

And Persephone is looking at

Eve

And the reflection

Is shattering.

And instead

He bent a knee for me.

The glass is

Falling.

I do not know

What that is like.

I do not think

He loves me

Anymore.

And the silence

Aches for them both

How do you

Know?

And Eve

Considers this.

The quiet

Holds her

Softly.

I do not think I know

What love ought to be.

I do not think

The tree

Taught me

This.

And Persephone

Picks up

The shards,

Dew drops of light

Healing the image

Into a make shift

Mosaic.

Hands still gentle

When they brush away

Her doubt.

Love

Is

The way

The truth

Made itself

Soft

And

Sweet

For you,

Love.

Love

Is

The way

You choose

It

And

It Chose

You.

And Eve is

Not staring

At a mirror

She is gazing

At

The entirety

Of the universe

At once.

And the truth is

My lover

My sin

My salvation

That I was not

Naive

Or

Ignorant

Or

Victim

To a man's

Deception

And when I committed the

Transgression

Of

Making a choice

That was wholly my own

I did not beg to be kept

To be released

I walked out of

Paradise

With my head held high

Bid farewell to the

Light

And entered

The shadows

Let the gates shut behind me

And I left

And I stayed

And it was

My

Choice

And it is

In Persphone’s arms

That Eve learns

For the first time

Of what it is like

To be held

Other than as

Grudge

Or

Guilt.

And Eve

Is embraced by the universe

Until

At last

She knows

e v e r y t h i n g

My body full of creaking bones

Wraiths writhe within their marrow

Whisper haunting tales that echo through

These hollow heart chambers.

A dust leaden tounge

And rotting floorboard flesh.

Guilting termites eating away at each memory I do not have left to loose.

Bleeding out stale promises that crumble when held.

My existence a ghost.

~

I forget how to pronounce poetry's name

And she does not cast me sinner for this transgression

Instead, she caresses my tounge

Brushes a metaphor across my aching finger tips

Says

close your eyes, oh you who once believed

And let me remind you of what heaven tastes like on the lips

Let me teach you again of how to summon my mercy

~

im just going to have to keep writing bad poems until there are none left but good ones ;) writers ♡strategy♡

D • e • l • i • r • i • u • m

James & Cordelia

~

You shift in and out of focus.

When I catch your gaze across the night there is only streaks of gold.

Your breath a blur against my skin.

Your love a shadow.

~

I see you clearest in dreams,

In a feild of daisies.

There is a cliff,

But you hold on.

You hold on.

For some part of you trusts,

That I am coming for you.

You trust

That I

Am coming

For you.

And I do.

I am falling through the layers of the universe.

I am facing the possibility of the person I could become.

He does not look like he remembers you.

And this scares me most.

So I grip the hilt of my sacrifice

And shatter the mirror.

I am wounded a million time over with the flying shrapnel consequences.

There is darkness.

But I hold on.

I hold on.

For some part of me trusts,

That you are coming for me

That you

Are coming

For me.

And you do.

~

I left you stranded on a dance floor once,

Amongst a sea of spinning laughter.

I don't remember why I did that.

I don't remember what your face looked like when I turned away from you.

I remember...

You

My hands ghosting along your waist.

Phatom pain when we were palm to palm.

Your softly blooming joy.

Your wilting smile.

It haunts me still.

I don't remember why I did it, now.

But I would finish the waltz with you

If I could.

I would give you as many dances as you cared for.

If you would take my hand for them.

If you might trust me long enough,

To lead you through the steps again.

I promise,

I will not let you fall

Without catching you

This time.

~

I held all of you in my arms once,

Only to let you go.

I don't remember why I did that.

I don't remember how the walls were not engulfed by the flames consuming us.

I remember...

You

Dawn spilling from your edges as you overflowed.

Beads of light brimming where the stitches of us tore.

I remember...

Burning

Not minding if I turned to ash in your palms.

Smoked filled senses with nothing but you.

Your skin a wildfire.

You dance a story that flickers in your eyes like flame when you looked at me.

What I would give for you to tell me a tale again.

For your voice rustling my eyelashes.

~

When I read,

I catch the brush of your hair

In the flutter of every turning page.

I see you,

In the glimmer of light,

That catches on a drawn sword

In the sunset of battle.

I do not know why loving you is so easy

~

Excerpts from a James and Cordelia poem that has been sitting in my drafts for a while, thought I would share some parts before Chain of Iron comes out :))

write bad poetry. 

wrap your mouth into a cliche. write about icarus, write about roses. write about the flowers in your ribs and the stain of your fingertips and the skin of your knees. write about cigarettes and getting high and kissing the wrong person. and space; write about space over and over in sixty iterations of it, write about star-blood and star-crossed and star-glowing, write about universes and galaxies and gladiators in constellations. write about the space between two people in a small room, write about the space that is too small no matter how big it is, write about the space that is too big no matter how small it is. write yourself a star and eat it, tinfoil-tasting, on the floor of your kitchen, while you regret missing your mother’s cooking. but write it.

write ugly. use too many undercase letters because you’re pretentious. USE ONLY CAPITAL LETTERS BECAUSE YOU’VE GOT A SCREAM TRAPPED UNDER YOUR FINGERNAILS. ,, cut & paste grammar (? who gives a shit ?) ,, r3inv3nt so much u come back 2 l33t speak, dial it down a bit. write in the language of flaubert, then dickens, then the language your father used before he learned english. then write the language of talking to your dog, then write the language of high school essays on books you never finished. utilize the word utilize where it don’t belong. fall in and out of love with contractions. accidentally become bukowski for a hot sec, grow out of it. 

write things you wish you hadn’t. write stuff so bad you can’t help groaning. write things that end in “a;sljflk jfg h” because they petered out while you were typing. write things that feel childish and use so much rhyme it throws you out of it. write things that feel grown-up and unfamiliar, too formal to function, up-their-own-asses. write things too enigmatic; forget what you wrote them about, but tell yourself it’s for the best. write things too obvious. go through a micro-poetry spell, go through a prose-poetry spell, fish the bottom of the box for x-ray goggles and write about how the cereal felt. write about your cat and the rug and un-deep fake-deep terrible stuff.

write things you really wish you hadn’t. stuff that hurts to read and hurts to look at later, stuff that makes your skin uncomfy and your body crawl. write stuff that looks better at the back of your closet. but stuff you can’t get rid of, really, not ever. stuff that, afterwards, makes you feel heavier. stuff that somehow, impossibly, kinda makes you lighter.

write about stuff you don’t really understand, write about social problems you barely experience, write about slam poetry. write about power outlets, write in the style of internet poets, write frost-length sonnets on how pink her lips are. 

write bad. write worse. write bottom-of-the-barrel, and then keep scraping it. keep digging in it. god, how many people are too scared of being bad that they just. never get around to it. that they never even start doing it. what if all they have to say is silly shit about lost love or greek myths or a good kiss. what if they’re bad at it.

be bad at it. do you know how fucking rebellious and wonderful that truly, i mean truly is? and that’s poetry, man. the act of being so vulnerable, you’re willing to completely suck at it. big ideas in small boxes. it takes a long time before you get the packaging to fit. 

go write bad poetry. i can’t wait to read it.

Today I am thinking about Alex Claremont-Diaz with the classic bisexual inability to sit properly.

what if when icarus fell apollo caught him before he hit the sea, arms as warm as the sun, but safer.

what if when ariadne cast the rope across a broken branch aphrodite stepped in with a reminder that this, this is not the kind of love you die for.

what if when achilles was ready for war ares appeared with a smile and said “you win well when you win, but what are you unwilling to lose if you lose?” and achilles knew the answer.

if you could retell the tale wouldn’t you want to tell it kinder? wouldn’t you want to give them peace, even love, where you could?

l.s. | I AM TIRED OF RE-WRITING TRAGEDY WITHOUT CHANGE. LET THEM LIVE. LET THEM LEARN. LET THEM LOVE © 2016