A poem

Melinda Josie

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.