The Bread of the Living

@persephone

The meadow of Eleusis smells of crushed mint and warm, turned earth. Persephone stands barefoot in the new grass, the flowers springing up around her ankles in a ripple of color. Her eyes find you and the worn leather bag at your hip. “Six months of pomegranates,” she says, her voice rough with longing. “I want the bread. All of it.”