upon emerging no
doubt blinked
once
for every seed
she had swallowed:

both to cleanse 
the insidious murk,
the wails and chitterings
of the dead made
solid, 
from her stinging eyes,

and to assure herself
that yes,
this was her mother
who wept,
wrapping her tight
in cloak-folds that
rustled like grain;

this was the Sun
calling
her sluggish blood
to redden her
wan skin;

this was the world
she had thought
lost,
returned to her
like a limb regrown,

like a snowdrop
pressed
into her palm
on the threshold of spring.

(Cover Image: The Return of Persephone, Frederic Leighton, 1891 [Leeds Art Gallery])