Persephone at the Lethe

If only it worked for her
she could be satisfied with
the asphodel, its petals
and stem like bone and ash;
she could be satisfied
with his cold jewels
and colder love. Hell, she could
be satisfied with anything.
But the water slipped
down her throat without
touching her, and she was left
still aware of herself
beside the river’s whispered promises,
amidst the throngs of shades,
forgetful, faceless,
luckier than the gods.

Copyright © 2010 Joan Bedinger.

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