The First is a glimmer in the thick press of midnight,
a hopeful sunburst on her tongue;
for once she appreciates Helios,
whose constant surveillance was loathsome before
when she was above.
Here every color is grey,
landscapes and people blend into each other,
it is always cold.
The Second is Rebellion
against Hades,
and her mother,
both of whom would keep her
in a world without change.
When she bites down,
her mouth reeks of scarlet and passion,
irrevocable transformation.
Three, Four, and Five are Shame and Compliance and Self-flagellation,
trading one yoke for another;
she deserves this half-life
because what was she doing in that biker bar to begin with?
Her mother had been right.
Brittle hearts sing out
the smallness of maturity,
the frailty of innocence,
the cost of being wise.
When Hermes comes with golden shoes
so bright they hurt her eyes,
he says, “I can take you back,
if you want,
and everything will be safe again.”
The Sixth is a promise:
in her heart and on her tongue,
the bittersweet tang of independence blooms–
she will warm herself amongst the flowers,
but she will not stay;
she will change as the seasons change,
embracing fire and ice, danger and truth,
the strange facets of unknown stars,
the dreams of mysterious fruit.