I tried on the skin of a new goddess, I wove flowers in my hair and planted corn and carrots, soft leafy lettuce, I smiled with a garnet red mouth and I told myself I was half made of sun.
I spent hours laying in tall grass fields feeling the earth beat below me and I told myself the absence of silence was right. I was devoted. I was a faithful devotee to the love of things that grew, and I believed that love was something you could plant and watch flourish.
I grew backwards. Softer. I became naive, and sweeter, nectar behind my ears.
A year of this and Artemis found me choking on seeds. She slapped me on the back, hard enough for bruises and I coughed up a mess of fruit and broken promises. “You never liked pomegranates anyways,” she says.