Harvest of Pomegranate Seeds
Harvest of Pomegranate Seeds
I harvested many fruits of my labor
through years of trial and tears.
The land was wet with sorrow—
yet you, my sweet Persephone,
were the sweetest fruit.
If I lost you,
I would be undone.
But as with all tender things,
you grew, you blossomed—
and life—Hades—
would soon whisk you away.
I like to imagine you didn’t want to go,
that you were stolen,
ripped from my arms,
longing to remain
within your mother’s womb.
But secretly, I uncover truth:
you fell in love with life,
stern and unpredictable as he is,
and you did not hesitate
when he offered the pomegranate seeds.
I know they were sweet on your tongue,
just as once they were on mine.
And though you flourish,
I taste only salt—
a loneliness brined,
the heart gone barren,
fields latticed in snow.
Yet spring unfurls when you return,
petals breaking through the frost.
Your nearness warms the soil,
Albeit brief the land has thawed.
A mother’s love does not end,
even though the seasons do.
Though I cannot bend time,
I send forth this blessing with you:
May your laughter thaw the underworld,
And Hades treat you well
but remember, my dear child—
The underworld is large and vast
And might feel like a tomb
But a mother’s task
Is to always be
who taught you how to bloom.
Harvest of Pomegranate Seeds
I harvested many fruits of my labor
through years of trial and tears.
The land was wet with sorrow—
yet you, my sweet Persephone,
were the sweetest fruit.
If I lost you,
I would be undone.
But as with all tender things,
you grew, you blossomed—
and life—Hades—
would soon whisk you away.
I like to imagine you didn’t want to go,
that you were stolen,
ripped from my arms,
longing to remain
within your mother’s womb.
But secretly, I uncover truth:
you fell in love with life,
stern and unpredictable as he is,
and you did not hesitate
when he offered the pomegranate seeds.
I know they were sweet on your tongue,
just as once they were on mine.
And though you flourish,
I taste only salt—
a loneliness brined,
the heart gone barren,
fields latticed in snow.
Yet spring unfurls when you return,
petals breaking through the frost.
Your nearness warms the soil,
Albeit brief the land has thawed.
A mother’s love does not end,
even though the seasons do.
Though I cannot bend time,
I send forth this blessing with you:
May your laughter thaw the underworld,
And Hades treat you well
but remember, my dear child—
The underworld is large and vast
And might feel like a tomb
But a mother’s task
Is to always be
who taught you how to bloom.