december first time

Of Hades (from the same series as the 30th poem.)

Coaxing the fresh wick of her body
from the wax of cool earth—

her eyes only fluttered. Shoulders
drooped with the still
of dark; nestling toward the heat
of my skin: like the sun. The ruptured
field disappeared behind us; horizon. Hair
coiled as vines; sweet cusp of her lips.

Stubborn as a perennial, she would not
open: only wait. Pale and replete,
shivering through averno—changing
the tide of the river styx—
only outward when her mother’s
cries tore through her throat.

To be buried, finally, both she
and I. To be consumed, a bitter herb
simmered to sweet. She is a light
beneath a door with no handle
that allows me to read and be read.
She wilts with the grace of a rose,

blushes sometimes, softens at the edges.
Everyone Wants Me to Love.
To have a winter more charitable,
a death who is infatuated and warm.

Teasing the soil of the underworld
with possibility, Persephone: a seed
kissing the dirt apart with hushed
derision. Aching toward the light.

            I have heard this called rape.
Like her, the rapeseed is harvested—
it is the most valuable part
of the crop—its delicate yellow
petals stripped
for oil. For nectar.

The rape gives: it seasons and fades.