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Image by Ava Sol


the madrigal, volume ii

Demeter Thrives

by aimee macdonald

in spring, when the river gives up her dead

those few sweet sodden leaves that haven’t crunched under foot

since before the women came in their droves

to dance by the flickering moon

she remembers the perennial baby blue eyes

they grew by her bedside and after a night of rain,

she could brush them with her fingertips


now, nights that burn vivid red

and a troupe of people in plastic shades

a campfire in sacred space, scarce space

these dear friends give gifts to the river


and the park she runs through is thick with heat

and people lay blankets by her side

crack open glass bottles and opaque packaging

and lick the up the crumbs


and dip fingers inside and press her waters to their mouths

but she is ancient

so when she sighs the ground shakes

and the grass is ripped from beneath them

and their thin stemmed glasses quiver

and she gives them half chewed gum and odd socks

cosy knitted scarves now unwoven sodden masses

that weigh them into the mud

the river flows still, though, heavy with memory

and the imprint of the past

and the humidity of now

Aimee (she/her) is an English Literature student and writer based in Glasgow who spends the majority of her free time reading and writing poetry and short stories. She likes anything fantastical, specifically feminist retellings of ancient myths and creepy fairy tales, and often draws these classical and historical interests into her own work, with a focus on mental health and the body. She aims to write the strange, nostalgic, evocative and occasionally uncomfortable. She is published in GUM and Prickly Pear Magazine, and posts her poetry and some spoken word on her Instagram blog (@writingaimee).

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