can be left to her own devices.
My mother once told me that as a child
she had countless cousins to play with.
Naiads and Oceanids, water nymphs
and River Gods. But I had no playmates.
Pallas had taught me how to carve
horses and bears and wolves
out of the bones left of mortals
who had ventured too far
and ended up drinking Styx’s water.
But carving was a poor replacement
for a playmate. So I decided
one day long ago to walk
through those forbidden doors.
Not only would I talk to ghosts,
but perhaps ghosts would make
good companions.
The Fields of Asphodel
had become my favourite place to visit.
I knew that the mist felt dull to some,
but to me, it was mysterious.
I knew that the lavender in the fields
only added to the grey of the mist,
but flowers signalled a form of life.
Perhaps I was simply fascinated
by the waiting people
who walked into this place.
They would awaken confused here.
Sometimes they would stop to ask me
where they were, and tell me their story.
