Persephone’s apple,
a ripe pomegranate
with seeds blood red,
with golden crown
waiting for that moment
of ascent,
when darkness turns to light,
or is it light turning to darkness...
When all that is fertile
dark, rich, and moist
with ripeness,
a pregnant silence,
an opening,
veils parting, lifting,
moving in the breath of time,
in a stillness
that can only rely on faith,
and that moment
when the angel
of death
passes over
and there is a holding,
a waiting,
before the miracle of breathing
life
returns…
Persephone’s apple,
a ripe pomegranate
with seeds blood red
scatter across the hardwood floor
like pearls,
small eggs of potential,
small movements
found in rocks, trees,
and foundations
and in the hearts of dancers
moving alone and together,
apart and away
forever listening
to the rhythms of body
luminous,
illuminating all that is…

Lea Goode-Harris
Passover
April 12, 2006