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  • Persephone Lost, and: Bluebeard's Daughter
  • Amy Riddell (bio)

Persephone Lost

Before the man snatched her,she was like Persephonepicking daffodils on a hillside.She was just a little girltending potted petunias outside the trailerwhere she lived. She smelled of sweetgardenias and of laundry, line-driedin the sun. After she was gone,her grandmother, wild-eyed like Demeter,searched and searched,but neighbors watched out their windowsand the sun in this story was only the sunand rose and set day after daywhile grief choked the grandmother,and the earth held the girl's breathlessbody. There was no magic, no grieving [End Page 52] goddess to shut everything down,only her school clothesfolded there neatly in the chair,set out at bedtime after Sunday nightchurch. Before death,she thrashed aboutin the garbage bag realizingthat he had buried her.Not wanting to be lost,she scratched and clawedfor light and air, for life itself,and clawing tore the bag,but there was no use. Weeks later,when police found her,the first thing they sawpoking throughlike some trick of newlife sprouting in the dirt:two little fingers.

Bluebeard's Daughter

Bluebeard's daughter collects light,finds a shaft here,a shimmer thereand fills her pockets.She looks for it everywhereand finds her husband's gentle wordsand her daughter's golden hair.Their laughter sustains her.She eats whatever she finds: [End Page 53] the sun, the flame,even the TV's flicker.What she doesn't eat, she collects,and when she has gathered enough,she shapes a windowthrough which she can seebeyond herselfand through which she can climbto safety away from Bluebeardif he were ever to come back,though he is locked away now.She collects light and fashions windowsand she eats light, too.She knows to do this. She remembers.When Bluebeard led her into the darkhalls of his castle and made herthe keeper of his keys, she nourishedherself with the warmthshe had eaten for safekeepinguntil the day came whenfinally she opened her mouthto speak and picked up her pento write and the truth pouredfrom her and for that timeshe became like the sun,a star beyond darkness. [End Page 54]

Amy Riddell

Amy Riddell is the author of a chapbook, Narcissistic Injury, published by Pudding House. Her poems have appeared recently in print in Birmingham Poetry Review and Peeks and Valleys, and online in Blue Fifth Review and Prick of the Spindle. She is a professor of English at Northwest Florida State College.

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