Demeter touched her mother’s neck and traced the silver knots on the chain round to the fall of her mother’s throat . She pulled her mother back against her and kissed the top of her mother’s head who leaned back against her daughter, free to be tired, free to cry again.
Demeter brushed the amber ring across her mother’s wet face and forehead tracing an orange snake this way and that, she wanted to travel further this time, she needed to go deeper, she wanted the risk of unbecoming.
The orange snake shed a layer of skin, made her mother trust her daughter’s hands, made her body shape itself differently so that they seemed moulded into each other like an ancient sleeping figure discovered in a tomb. They shared each other’s shapes, gave up their definitiveness, melting into a new form which now became translcuent and glowing.
We are travelling mother whispered Demeter who saw four hands reaching through the golden door and pulling open a door off a badly lit street. They went inside and the room was empty save for a table set for one. They would wait of course. Demeter held her ring like a shield before her, scanning the room for impressions. The ring darkened absorbing messages sent to them from a place hidden from eyes that saw only visible things, a place where Demeter knew words had the power to murder, to posssess your soul forever.