You can register here.The rulers of the dead, enthroned, with grain, parsley, a rooster, and a bowl symbols of life and rebirth. She teaches literature and writing at Boston University and in the Stonecoast MFA Program. Her work has been translated into thirteen languages. She has been a finalist for the Nebula, Crawford, Seiun, and Mythopoeic Awards, as well as on the Tiptree Award Honor List. She is the World Fantasy and Locus Award-winning author of the short story and poetry collections In the Forest of Forgetting (2006), Songs for Ophelia (2014), and Snow White Learns Witchcraft (2019), as well as novella The Thorn and the Blossom (2012), debut novel The Strange Case of the Alchemist’s Daughter (2017), and sequels European Travel for the Monstrous Gentlewoman (2018) and The Sinister Mystery of the Mesmerizing Girl (2019). Theodora Goss was born in Hungary and spent her childhood in various European countries before her family moved to the United States, where she completed a PhD in English literature. ( Editors’ Note: “Persephone in Hades” is read by Erika Ensign on the Uncanny Magazine Podcast Episode 22A.) To forget, for a little while, the silent husband Of death and poppies, at least for a little while. Sprinkled with daisies and cornflowers, forget the land It’s time to blossom like the olive trees,įor a little while, laugh and shake water dropsįrom my hair, dance across the sunlit meadows Into the sunlight, into my mother’s arms. It’s time to push my way through the dark soil When I will feel that ache within my chest,Īs though a string were tied around my heart, It is useless, here, to count the days, and yet Know better: you cannot have love on such terms.Įven the gods, selfish as children, know that. “Yet how can I let you go?” His eyes plead with me,īut I turn away, unsympathetic. While above us frost and snow blanket the earth-Īway from death, among the endless dead.” “Not,” I say, “as long as you keep me here, “You’ll never love me, will you, Persephone?” I thought you might love me in time, forgetting that loveĬannot live in this land.” He looks at me, frowning. I saw your mouthĪnd thought perhaps it would kiss me, or whisper poemsįrom this endless sleep, this abyss of timelessness. “and thought of it blowing back against my face,īut there is no wind down here. “I saw your hair lift in the wind,” he says, Why not some other girl?” He shakes his headĪnd sighs. In which only yew trees grow, and never speak? Or stare out the window at the unchanging garden, To sit and brood in a chair made out of bones, To this stagnant country,” I ask him, “if not to talk? Who sits all day in his library reading scrolls Here, in this silent land where all are welcome. Relieve their pains or worries for a while, Instead, among the wheat, the poppies sway: I miss that time of year when autumn firesīloom in the household hearths. That rattle on the trees with intricate lace. When frost spreads her white veil across the landscape,Ĭovering the hills, decorating the leaves When snowflakes fall and melt against my cheeks,
Here they bloom all year long, if one can say Poppies have never been my favorite flowers.
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