Kore in Hell

I dreamed of a house that was like one of those roadside follies built on beer cans or colored bottles. There were layers and layers of decoration laid in the adobe mud of the walls. A woman walked by with a back pack. She was from the Women’s School (a once real place in my life). She offered me part of a pomegranate altar she had in the pack, made of dried pomegranates. I told her—no thanks. I said—I’ll just write about it instead.
When I woke up I realized I had done the right thing. It’s October and only a fool would accept pomegranates or pomegranate seeds this time of year and have to go underground for the winter with Persephone.

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