Saffron City Press

Christa Lei

Honolulu, Hawaii

your gods are fallible–
we can do no wrong, yet we make mistakes. (don’t point this out to Zeus: he’ll turn you into some sort of animal to either punish or hide you in plain sight. a combination of both?) the best part is when we fess to our aforementioned discretions. if we are infallible, i cannot imagine what purpose it serves to slowly chip away and destroy someone from the inside out. maybe that’s the point. when we scare humans, we frighten you into good behaviour– as if we ourselves even have a clue as to what that means.

maybe this is why
i crushed those tart ruby seeds and let the juices stain my flesh,
their acidity burning my throat.
because mistakes happen–
and here I am, on Earth, suffering for it

i wish i plucked the tiny wings off Hermes’ back and feet, so that mischievous bastard left me alone.
but the first time it truly was Hades’ fault. the way he grasped at my ankle all those centuries ago, dragging me out from under. i was not even a fully grown vessel. i had not begun to sprout past the rich soil and root myself firmly in the loam. he dragged me down to hell with
him, not kicking and screaming. i could not find my voice. as he shuttled us off to Styx, i stayed limp, a broken rag doll in his arms.

all a blur,
until I was purple and blue–
complementary colours of bruises
where fingers press too roughly against
the lighter shades of pale.
i surrendered in the infancy of youth
(though others will say i came into my authority and adulthood.)
what a crock of shit.
knowing what i know now, i wish i stayed to roam freely amongst the nymphs.

it starts with a forbidden fruit–
or rather, a forbidden seed from which that fruit twists, unfolds and unfuls, sprouting the largest sin one can commit. adam and eve had the apple that cast them out of eden. pandora yanked open the box while evils escaped and hope stayed behind. whether it be consumption or curiosity, we were doomed.

but they were just so succulent,
bulbous, bursting at the seams
with crimson red juice
drenching my plush lips,
running down my neck
and those
delicate tart little gems.
i could not resist, i later plead.
now you see exactly how
we ended up in this predicament,
you responded.
–and it was all because of
that damned forbidden fruit.

Christa Lei grew up in Hawaii as the youngest child of Filipine immigrants. They were educated in Community Psychology and English at DePaul University, where they graduated with honours. Their intersectional identities as a fat, disabled, queer, polyamorous, third-culture person inform their personal and professional work. When they’re not facilitating community care, or providing death and health literacy and education, they are creating shared futures with their spouse and two dogs in New York City.