Persephone Explains Global Warming

She has realized: all these years in Hell have made her powerful. She whirls back from the underworld, skirts made of flowers but also, now, flame. She dares the sun to come closer, flirts with the moon, unphasing the tides. She offers fruit to passersby, out of season: mango, blood orange, avocado, overripe pineapple. She blisters the trees with her passing. It ’s not enough to bring back spring: hurricanes, volcanoes, tornadoes, wildfires, tsunamis in her dance. If the poles switch polarity, if the icecaps are melting, she’ll be singing: “Put the blame on Mame, boys,” in a satin dress, a film-noir femme fatale in black lipstick and hair like orchi d’s tendrils. She is no longer a child, under the whims of mother and father, less the patience of the earth goddess, but she’s inherited her father’s temper, his tendency to hurl lightning, to shatter lives for the tiniest infractions. She still loves her blooms, but now also poison ivy, para sitic plants, algae and things that thrive on smoke and uncertainty, resilient even under the constant threat of death, like she herself.
Source: JAMA - Category: General Medicine Source Type: research