a
myth
of
devotion
when Hades decided he
loved
this
girl
he built for her a duplicate of
earth,
everything the same, down to the
meadow,
but with a
bed
added.
everything the same, including
sunlight,
because it would be hard on a young
girl
to go so quickly from
bright light
to utter
darkness.
gradually, he thought, he’d introduce the
night,
first as the
shadows
of
fluttering leaves.
then
moon,
then
stars.
then
no moon,
no stars.
let Persephone get used to it slowly.
in the end, he thought, she’d find it
comforting.
a replica of
earth
except there was
love
here.
doesn’t everyone want
love?
he waited many
years,
building a
world,
watching
Persephone in the
meadow.
Persephone, a
smeller,
a
taster.
if you have one appetite, he thought,
you have them all.
doesn’t everyone want to feel in the
night
the
beloved body,
compass,
polestar,
to hear the
quiet breathing
that says
i am
alive,
that means also
you are
alive,
because you
hear
me,
you are here with me. and when one turns,
the other turns –
that’s what he felt, the lord of
darkness,
looking at the
world
he had
constructed for Persephone. it never crossed his
mind
that there’d be no more
smelling
here,
certainly no more
eating.
guilt?
terror?
the
fear
of
love?
these things he couldn’t imagine;
no
lover
ever imagines them.
he
dreams,
he wonders what to call this place.
first he thinks: the new
hell.
then: the
garden.
in the end, he decides to name it
Persephone’s
girlhood.
a soft
light
rising above the level
meadow,
behind the
bed.
he takes her in his
arms.
he wants to say i
love
you, nothing can
hurt
you
but he thinks
this is a
lie,
so he says in the end
you’re
dead,
nothing can
hurt
you
which seems to him
a more promising beginning, more
true.