by Hollie Dugas

I’m not some trailer-trash demon.
And, by Zeus, I am dog-tired
of reminding folks that I am a god.
I collect souls; I do not enter them
for profanity’s sake. Besides,
how many devils do you know
with a puppy? And despite being
born buried, I do have one good
thing going. Love skewered me
in one heartbeat and I bowed to it.
True, I snatched my unsuspecting
lover from a field. She did not
want to belong here; but I could
not bear losing such a coveted
thing so, I did what any god might—
dined with her on pomegranate—
because she couldn’t belong to me
unless she had a piece of dead
within her too—a match made
in the pith of earth. It’s not perfect.
There are no spontaneous shifts
in weather here. Only Persephone.
And when she’s gone, it’s damned
cold. But, soon, she returns
and the chill is broken, my lovely
promise, glut of purple narcissus
in hand, calling from the dark,
let’s fire it up, baby, I’m home.

Hollie Dugas lives in New Mexico. Her work has been included in Barrow Street, Reed Magazine, Qu, Redivider, Porter House Review, Blue Earth Review, EPOCH, Salamander, Poet Lore, The Louisville Review, The Penn Review, Breakwater Review, The National Poetry Review, Third Coast, RHINO, Sixth Finch, Gordon Square Review, Phoebe, Broad River Review, and Louisiana Literature.