Persephone

He tricked me with pomegranate; somehow he knew
That I couldn’t resist that blood diamond juice
And the crunch of tiny teardrop seeds. My mother always said
That he was no good, that he was all darkness,
And gloom, and mildewed cobwebs; not like our webs
That are dazzling in dew and dawn, our buds and berries,
The Midas green of new hawthorn leaves. He drinks the waters
Of the Stix, treacly and turbulent, not like our
Chattering streams and adder-zag rivers.
I missed the birds, the sound of the trees sucking up
Sap from their roots, the rustle and tiptoe of
Tiny unseen feet, the dances of the millipedes and
The phosphorescent crocus pollen weighing down the bees
Like saddlebags loaded with precious treasures. He,
Hades, was winter and cruelty and death. Me,
All runny honey suppleness and an April morning’s misty breath…

But then he tricked me with that pomegranate. I cried.
I remembered my mother’s words too late. Luckily it was
All sorted out by Hermes, he was a true crème de la crème diplomat.
But still I had to sojourn in the underworld.
There is no garden here, except that around the Stix;
All the trees are merely twigs and slurping mud will steal
Your sandals if you step in the wrong place. The peal
Of voices constantly thrums in my ears, like a perpetual
Séance. All the leaves are skeletons, all the feathers dropped
By careless crows are Icarus-dipped, waxy, half melted. The only
Living thing is mistletoe, he keeps for me, bursting
With snowy pearls.

So yes. I was trapped with pomegranate. It was a death
For six months each year. But I soon got talking with the ghosts,
Heard their stories. Heard about Troy from both sides. I found Hector
More honest and interesting than Achilles, who was always acting
As if he were on telly. Some musician’s wife sang for me and played the harp.
Hades offered me his arm, we danced.
I taught him the steps of the millipede, and then we moved onto the
Fandango, Viennese Waltz, the Argentine
Tango. Our legs were all tangled up together like sticks
In a birds nest. I looked into his blue eyes
And saw that they were geysers, warm and liquid under a
Lonely lunar exterior. I decided I liked what I saw.
But don’t tell him I said that: I like to keep him
On his toes.