an-adversary: Persephone's lament*

"A single fruit grew on that tree, a bright pomegranate fruit. Persephone stood up in the chariot and plucked the fruit from the tree. Then did Aidoneus prevail upon her to divide the fruit, and, having divided it, Persephone ate seven of the pomegranate seeds."
-The Golden Fleece
by Padraic Colum
(1881-1972)

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Something about repeating dates, like rituals, makes us hate each other.

Because we can-- I am without fear of you, for you.
And you of me, for me.

Of me, for me? The milk of your innocent need to flop down and build a life in the mud
(the warm squelchy stuff you know well, caked between your fingers)
The milk of your innocent need turns sour in my belly
that unashamedly longs for things
that are of less or no nutritional value.

You cling like a babe with a mans lips to my tits
I sigh, wrap dried-flower arms around your head and contemplate the ceiling.
I ask silently what would it be like, what would it be like
to ask a french man you met once in a cafe, s'il te plait, monsieur-- do you like my knees?

Patient and fresh-washed, we sit in the afternoon like well-mannered bits of laundry
in a basket, this basket that we weave, every

anniversary.

Day comes down to night now faster
And the spicy indecent stains are looked for, invited to spill themselves.
Oil and water do not mix, you grumble,
as you scrub away at the linen with lime and molten water from the red-eyed tap.

Do not mix. We lie, entwined or apart
like wooden dolls escaped from a craftsman's hut.
You took the hammer and I took the screwdriver,
so every night by the light of the moon
we sit, take apart and splinter our feet.

For we choose to not walk, we choose to stay.
Our feet grow roots that bind with the clay.

But at night, secrets come under cover of the cool dark.
They dig out our toes and leave them gasping, ravished by a wind scented with
winged seeds and pomegranate.

You offered me seeds to suck. I, famished, did.
Now I am sickened by the lingering sweetness.

Now, I cannot go back.

Night divides us, like shopping crowds do.
We lie... side by side, we lie.
Nothing much to do this way--
you will sleep, and I will die.


*first published on Caferati, a Ryze network. Much thanks for the good word, JJ Dan and Arjun.