This poem was originally published as a Poem Flyer.

If there’s a goddess for the modern age,

It’s got to be Persephone. Just think

How much of life you spend inside a cage

Of your own make; what wastes of pulp and ink

You trundle through. The torment of Greek hell

Is drudgery, as Sisyphus attests.

(You can be pretty sure they have Excel.)

And like Persephone, what we do best

Is counting down the days. O goddess, hear

Our cry. Show how to ration out our need,

Break dullness into blocks that we can bear;

To crunch each day one pomegranate seed

And so extract some sweetness and some hope.

Spring’s daughter, exiles’ queen, teach us to cope.