Ode to Persphone
Today I taught the myth of Narcissus to eight eight year olds
Sixteen round eyes staring down at the daffodils unfolded on brown earth
Considering a similar fate:
To be so bewitched by yellow blossoms and sun gold flesh
That your roots dip into the ground and pull water from between rich, dark globules of soil
I did not tell those eight children and sixteen eyes and sixteen ears
About the daffodil that lies tattooed in ink against my right shoulder blade
In part, because I do not want them to know me with eight young brains so acutely
As one who has fallen in love with their own reflection
And sunk their own roots into the spring-wet ground for the sake of my own beauty
And in part because at that moment Nina spotted a fat gray toad
And it quickly became the most compelling thing any of us had ever seen.
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