Posted: December 19, 2011 in Poetry

So Hades decided I was unfit to raise my child.

I, the woman who feeds the world, was unfit to raise Persephone.

I, the woman who makes grain grow, made Persephone too beautiful.

I, the woman who helps birds find shelter, left Persephone too vulnerable.

I, the woman who waters roses in remote valleys, abandoned Persephone to her nature, my nature, our nature.

The other gods acquiesced by saying nothing.

Zeus frolicked in my gardens, dressed in fauna, sleeping with girls.

Hera said nothing because Zeus slept with girls as young as my daughter.

Poseidon continued to lure girls as young as my daughter to his coastlines.

Medusa was my daughter’s age.

We all thought Hades was the best of the three, until he deemed me unfit.

Hades must really love my daughter, said Aphrodite.

He must think she can bring peace to Hades, said Athena.

He won’t blemish her body or spirit, said Artemis.

Maybe it is better for her down there, said Nike.

Hades has more means. Hades has Elysium.  Hades has everything.

In what world do I live and beautify that I, a goddess, am deemed unfit?


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