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.