Kore
She had no other defences, an eighteen-year-old girl,
only her two thin arms and the black dress,
the memory of a loaf of bread evenly shared
and what we called the motherland, softly mentioned
during the night.
When they threw her into the darkness, she had no
voice. The other cells couldn’t hear her. Only the bird
of Persephone brought a few pomegranate seeds to her
in a kerchief. and the children drew her face on their]
school notebooks, under the lamp, a young Panagia *
on a small chair of a local café with many fish
and birds on her shoulders and knees.
Libros Libertad 