Kore Speaks by M. Weigel

The oldest versions of my tale claim I am the victim.

I played in the garden, helpless and naive.

The old man stole me, my childhood, my innocence, my body.

Trapping me in a hellscape until the sun confessed and my mother ravished the world with cold.

I, the stupid child, moved myself beyond rescue by eating pomegranate seeds.

Did no one wonder why I ate a few seeds when I had eaten nothing for months?

Some versions imply it was all my mother’s fault.

I was of age, but she kept me young and ignorant.

I knew nothing of the world until the experienced man entered my garden.

It was a quick seduction.

I was initiated into all of adulthood at once and loved my life as a queen.

My mother, however, would not stop piloting my life.

She was destroying the world. I had to do something.

I ate the seeds to see if I could find a way back.

Did no one wonder why I did not send anyone with a message?

More recent versions imply I was impatient.

I was ready but young. Naive. Easily impressed when the handsome god appeared.

I ran off, thinking marriage was soulful looks, gentle caresses, and feeling happy.

I ate the seeds earlier than most people realize. I ate plenty of other food too.

Only too late did I learn that my husband snores.

His table manners are horrific, and Cerberus can be a better conversationalist at times.

My mother knew that I did not yet understand that choices have consequences.

Did no one question why I never had to be dragged to the underworld each winter?

When do I get to be me? Centuries pass. Myths die. Mine doesn’t.

Why do I remain Hades’s victim or Demeter’s child?

I am myself:

A woman in the garden meeting and choosing a man.

A woman who also loves and misses her mother.

A woman who makes the realm of the dead bloom.