persephone’s wake

by Allister Nelson

Jackals howl as I descend, carrying poppies- red like blood.

I stand at the edge of Avernus, looking down into its pooling depth

time falls like pinions into its great maw, as if time were a tree,

bleeding leaves.

When the flesh dies, what is left?

Mother never told me why flowers wither at frost’s first touch.

I watch my flesh crumble, I become the Bone Bride.

Tucking the dying sun into my breast,

I pluck stars for the dead: a bouquet of light for the elder god.

Ploutos, timeless, beyond the reach of sun.

Not held sway to the dance of the cosmos.

He dwells in dreams.

To bring a living thing there is impossible

so it’s only effigies of life I take.

I die a bit, each time, and the rot inside me spreads

my flesh has grown mottled over millenia

my mother’s shining face mourns the things I could not be.

I come to the seventh gate, the winter wind bows before me,

shackles raised. I free the beast, and his biting death

swallows the ripened land- the harvest is at hand.

Grain falls to the scythe, fruit snaps at the stem.

I fall like a stalk of wheat, give way to Hades’ blade.

Seven bloodied pomegranates, spilled seeds at my feet.

We seal the seasons with a kiss upon the stone cold altar:

glass cuts like shards of time.

There is no time left for

me,

only eternity.

And that, my love Hades, is wretched

indeed.

Click here to read Allister’s bio.