Pomegranate Bruises

By Poonam Gaikwad

Slytherin green brushed across his face.

The night she drowned

In the typhoon of his manipulation.

One endless melody echoed

In the pit of her soul.

“I am Hades. You’re my Persephone,” he said.

She smirked.

“I’d rather be Apollo

Than some naïve queen of the underworld.”

—

Well, not when I’m swindled into being one.

“Tragedy,” he laughed.

But Hades trembled with his demons.

Persephone choked on her pomegranates.

Apollo played his lyre,

Far from their ruin.

By Poonam Gaikwad

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