THE MATH: (Moon + Ceres + N. Node CONJUNCT Gemini) = Moon of Mine


Athena sits down, to try

writing her feelings.

Persephone comes up, and smacks

the pen out of her hand.

"Be careful what you wish for!"
Persephone shrieks.  Athena does not
respond, but looks at her
like she is wondering what
hoop move would be most appropriate
for hitting Persephone in the trachea. 

"I mean it," Persephone insists,
"I have written myself into a Spell,
more than once.  In my first life,
I was a bird, who everyone Loved
but no one really knew,
and she hated herself."

"Sounds dark," Athena reflects.

"To end that life, 
I wrote another poem,"
Persephone continues.

"Let's hear it," Athena says
skeptically, unsure if she believes,
but curious. Persephone reveals
a tiny notebook, from the folds
of her dress...

Who have I been all of this
Time?  Some kind of living

shell.  Going, going.
Making, making.  Hoping

to be with you and without you,
all at once.  A poet

and a boneyard.  Sleep,
sleep, sleep.  Try to sleep.

Surrender to tidal healing.
Moon of mine, be tender.

Drink me in.  Dissolve me.
Do your work.  Crunch

my bones, and make me
new.  I will do anything

you ask, to make this pain
transform.  I have tried

everything I can think of..."
"What happened after that?"
Athena queries, interest piqued.

"The Moon crunched my bones,
and made me new," Persephone
says with a far off stare,
"It fucking hurt," she comes back
to her book, and Athena,
"This was me, a year later,"
Persephone says, as she ruffles
through the pages...

I look at my body
and I do not see

a woman.  My form,
so thin and curveless,

long-limbed, and withered;
petrified in this body,

like ancient wood,
reflecting an aged youth,

compressed before it could
mature.  Some warped idea

of Love has created this
sexless, Timeless creature,

rising from my eyes Now..."
"You call that new?"
Athena protests.

"I call this new," Persephone
declares, gesturing
at her own Now
glowing form.

"I kind of feel like
that last poem right Now,"
Athena says looking down
at her gnarled Weaver's hands.
Persephone crouches to hold them,

"I know you do,
and it will pass.
There's just no sugar
-coating a Pluto transit.
Bone-crunching is a-la-mode
right Now. Write something
new, and stop living
into the Spell
that bound you."

"But why does Vesta
get to write whatever she
wants to?" Athena protests, softly.

"Because," Persephone smiles,
"Vesta can handle it.
She's been doing it
all her lives through."

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