Monday Poetry: Fruit of the Dead
In an attempt to keep to a schedule (and make myself write more poetry), I have decided to post a poem each Monday. Here is this week's poem. It seemed particularly appropriate for this month.
Fruit of the Dead
Staining--blood-like, on my hands.
Each seed a sweet reward.
I could always understand how Persephone was tricked into eating them.
Who could resist?
I wouldn't say they're worth staying in the Underworld for
But if I hadn't eaten in days, I couldn't say that I would refuse.
Pomegranates are named fruit and food of the dead for a reason, after all.
Ripening in October, as the veil thins
They're practically ingrained with ghosts and tales of the afterlife.
Each sweet burst on the tongue invoking both the season and the past
With all its shades and memories
As I eat the seeds one by one, my hands turning red, I can hear my mother reading the story of Kore--
See the six garnet seeds Hades holds out in their hand that made her Persephone, great and terrible Queen of the Dead
As I finish my handful, I remember the staining of my hands as I ate from a bowl in my grandmother's kitchen,
In a house that no longer exists.
Pomegranates aren't sweet to me anymore. How can they be with all the past memories I saturate them with?
But they're far richer than any desert--my favorite treat, fruit of the dead
All the shades and memories becoming clearer as I pop the first seed into my mouth
Give me your feedback and thoughts in the comments!