Persephone’s Tree

This fruit grows fat on memories
and opens with the sticky red
of an overripe mother
sent under the knife for extraction

My existence in her life
may no longer be acknowledged
but she’s a part of my mythology
a goddess of the great beyond

It’s a messy business
peeling back the membranes
and scraping off seeds
for later leisurely consumption

Love may not begin with her
but the impetus to admit as much
was the only answer I could find
when she asked me if I did

A reminder of summer in winter
bittersweet between teeth
the harvest can only offer these
hands stained in blood of tree


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