Persephone ate you
and went to hell.
My grandmother
walked with you under her blouse—
her two daughters
hobbling with her.
Every day one seed
for each of them.
Whatever death road
they walked down
you were seed-apple,
garnet, cochineal,
spiritus ovum—
spiraling hawk-dive
of the soul—
red-leather skin
for hard times.
Sometimes she looked up
at the moon and saw you.
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Peter Balakian’s most recent collection, Ozone Journal, received the Pulitzer Prize in 2016.