She Came to Me in Daffodils

She came to me in daffodils

Late winter sunshine on her breath,

She bid me say hello

But I could not bow just yet.

 

She came to me in daffodils

And blossoms on the breeze

She smiled in her anger

But I would not bend the knee.

 

She came to me in daffodils

And left me pretty things

She rose and said enough

And then I kissed the ring.

 

She came to me in daffodils

And leaves me oft in tears

But I could not bear without her

For we have much work I fear.

-“She Came to Me in Daffodils,” original poem

Sunday I took down the altar. I carefully removed Anubis’s icon, his candles, and boxes. They sit now on the shelves of the small bookcase I use for an altar space, waiting to be returned to the main altar. I washed my tea cups and placed them on the altar; I washed the tall vases and filled them with autumn flowers. The white pillar candles moved forward and sat, bookending the altar.

We bought the flowers Sunday to give them time to open before my rite on Wednesday. And bloom they did, beautiful in their faded life, in their blossoming death. I watched as each day they opened a little more, listening as The Boyfriend told me “Your roses are looking well today.” And as each petal slowly unfurled to open for the goddess for whom they were bought, an offering to fulfill the promise I made months ago, I smiled.

Wednesday did not go according to plan. There was no time for shadow work like I had wanted and I was late to therapy due to a washer-dryer that refuses to behave. But I went to therapy and caught up with my doctor, relaying the events of the last month since she has been on vacation. We talked, I left, and I made a quick jaunt to the grocery store to purchase more dish soap before I went to my writing group that night. But, as I wanted into the store, my gaze lit upon the sign that announced pomegranates had just gone on sale. Knowing when to take a hint, I bought two, grabbed my dish soap, and went to my writing group.

That night, when I got back, I removed the adrils from their chambers. Never have I had such a beautiful fruit. Every seed was perfect, coming out with ease from the flesh, landing in my bowl of water without difficulty. I passed the washed seeds to The Boyfriend and showered, cleansing myself of a busy, rough day. Upon the altar, the tea cups waited. In one, I poured the pomegranate Italian soda I had bought months ago and shared in some with The Boyfriend. In the other cup, I lay dried pomegranate seeds covered in dark chocolate, laying upon them a handful of fresh seeds.

I lit the candles and the incense and said my prayers to Persephone Khthonia, bidding goodbye to the young maiden goddess I had begun to get to know since March and saying hello to the Queen whom I now see.

The altar

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