THE MATH: (Athena + Pisces) SEXTILE (Juno + Capricorn) = The Missing Parables


Meanwhile, on the Ferry…

"Why does Persephone look
sick today?" Athena asks Minthe.

Minthe looks up, and around
from the crepe cooker,
searching for Persephone,
"That's her angry face.
Her dad e-mailed her,
the other Night."

Athena's eyebrows raise,
"You know we have
the same dad, right?"

Minthe shrugs, "Well,
your dad called."

"What did he want?" Athena asks.

"To show her the Conservatory,
and try to be nice."

"So why is she mad?"
Athena cocks her head.

"He wants to pretend
Nothing happened, and Persephone
will not do that anymore.
It really would not have
Mattered, what he said,
unless it was, 'I'm sorry.'
The pain waits, just below
the surface.  It opens
like a pin prick.  For as long
as he refuses to touch the wound,
she will not yield to him..."

"I don't understand,"
Athena says, "My relationship
with Dad, was alWays great."

"Yeah," Minthe spits,
"While you were his little bitch
and before you took off
all your armor,"
she glances at Athena's face
and softens her tone abruptly,
"Here, Athena, read the rest
of the missing parables."
She slips Athena, a thin booklet.
The spine reads, 'by Persephone'.
At the bottom there is 
a barcode, "It's overdue,"
Minthe admits, "Send it back
to the Library, when you are
finished with it..."

The Lost Parables

-by Persephone

He would rather I give
my dowry back, than use it
the Way I want to.

That is all he shouts
into the phone, "GIVE IT
BACK."  It was in my name.

He wants me to give
my own money, back to myself,
so I can use it 10 years from

Now, Here in the linear
World, and buy a house
for mySelves, there, whatever

the fuck that will mean
by then.  It hurts, that
he does not believe in me.

I am not a fool.
I have not touched it
yet.  It just sits there,

in my possession, as I consider
the pathWays, looking to make
something better for the Earth.

I do not regret my choices,
so I bear them.  But he yells,
and so I yell.  And he tells me,

it is alWays me, blaming everyone
else.  He does not want me
to have the money,

unless I'm going to use it
for a white picket fence,
and a husband.  He tells me

he does not want to talk
to me without a mediator.
He tells me I am sick.
All he can do is tell me
what I am worth to him.
He does not believe in me.

And why should I give him
what he put in my name,
and gifted to each child

all the same?  The grief
is Nothing new.  I have 
mourned the Garden already.

So I took the money,
and I gave the Garden
back to him.

I cannot live Here, with him,
but I really want to
do something good with this
piece of Earth, that heals me
with every step I take,

or I want to give it back.
I want to take care of this place,
and see it blossom to serve
people who aren't white, and wealthy.
I don't want to raise sheep

to be sold to racists assholes
who will shoot my pets for fun.
I don't care how much land
hunting preserves "protect",
if by protect you mean seclude

for the white and wealthy
to quietly kill, beautiful ancient
beasts.  Our planet is dying,
and I think we could do more,
but I mySelf own Nothing,

but my body and my mind,
and even those things feel
threatened, being trapped here
with him, every Day; suffocated
by his opinions, and his fear


and his need to know best.
He tells me, I hate him.
And the Truth is, I Love him.
He has kept me

fed, and bound in blood,
and it feels like no small thing.
But I am disappointed in the Way
I have acquired all my comfort

and the Way it keeps me
weak.  Shall I run again?
Like I alWays do?
It would not be the first Time

I have taken off, because I did not
know how else to be alive
in the World anymore, other
than to just go be alone,

until I can find mySelves.
I can't live, Here, with him,
but I really want to
do something good with this

piece of Earth that has healed me
all my Life.  It is the One Place
in the World I dream to be.
So this is why I roam,

when I cannot be home,
because of how I feel
when I am in his presence.
I cannot breathe, or be mySelves,

or make any of my own mistakes
-alWays bound by this attachment
of money, and the Power
he thinks it should wield over

my opinion.

you never wanted
to hold the chainsaw,
with my breasted body
and my pretty-little-face.

But I am the One
who is Here with you,
as you grow old,
and you can no longer lift

the boulders of your youth,
begging to pick up
what you set down, a quarter
of a century ago, when I was

just your little girl.

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