Persephone's Creek (April 2009)

She'd have lived but for the shoes,
I'll not forget the irony in that.

When we were young, she had more blisters
on her feet than freckles on her nose
and would sooth her terraced toes
by mine, in Persephone's Creek,
half caught between the underworld and here.

She would prophecy of dresses,
wish for a fedora
(which I always thought was cheese)
but most of all it was the shoes.
"When I get married," she'd say,
"My feet will never touch the Earth again"
by which I thought she meant to fly
(so phantom were her dreams)
but it was the shoes she meant.

The first pair arrived during my eighth summer -
an admirer's gift.
She didn't put them on but stared
or held them in her lap like ugly dolls
and wouldn't let me touch them.

Days passed and when we bathed our toes,
she'd huff and sigh and look to the sky
as if to ask for permission.
I did not realise then that it was strength
she sought from the Gods
and in those darker days when she'd not meet my eyes,
she was looking down to Hades on his throne.

Once she'd tried them on, she was true to her word:
those feet never touched the ground again,
not while she lived.
She danced over mud and would kick me in the bath
but I could not resent her for they made her smile
and she would steal fruit for me.
She said they made her faster than the wind
and in a way I believed her,
even when I saw she bought the fruit with
pomegranate seeds; it was part of the magic.

She wore those shoes even when the gangrene
peeped its head above their rim
and changed them only for another pair,
on her wedding day.
We all knew then what deal she'd made
and all for a pair of shoes.

I get to do writing myth as a module next year, whoooo! It reminded me of this poem so I thought I'd share :)