Persephone

by Christina Sng

I lie by the fire,

Exhausted, heavy, staring

Up at the sullen red sky,

Our new home, a moon

200 light years from Earth.

It is as reluctant as us.

We name it Persephone,

In hopes that Spring

Will come, beneath

The dim amber Sun and

The dark-ringed planet

Persephone orbits around.

By the water, we build shelter,

Wooden constructs so comforting

After a lifetime encased in metal.

On the roofs, we line leaves

Cut from the flora, deep dark green

In the shape of a heart,

An understandable development,

Says our botanist, Jade,

Studying their massive size,

Each leaf having to work

So much harder to absorb rays

From their fading Sun.

But it will be a million years

Before it supernovas.

We can still build a home here.

Our lifetimes are not that long.

After all on Earth, humans

Only endured 200,000 years

Before destroying our planet

And vacating for greener pastures.

The damage is done.

Whether we survive

Also depends

On the fauna.

Our scans pick up

Heat signals from many areas

But cannot determine

Their sizes or threat levels.

With Persephone’s high gravity,

We estimate they won’t be giants,

Yet when the 100-foot serpent

Slithers out of the water,

We disperse,

Fleeing into the jungle,

Its stout flora making it easier

For us to spot predators.

We do not see the sinkholes

In the ground nor the massive

Sand octopus residing beneath.

Jack, our sensors guy, thought

Its massive body was a heat source.

It covers a tenth of the moon.

We lose half our force

To its relentless tentacles

By the time we reach higher ground,

The first hilltop

In a hundred miles

Only to realize

It is the domed shell

Of an enormous creature

In hibernation.

We live peacefully

Amid its benign flora,

Food and water plentiful

As the rain arrives

And we build shelter

With the mosses we gather

From its shell

Till the day it awakes,

Years later,

Violently shaking off

All parasites on its back,

Especially those who set fires.

We survive,

Fleeing to the swamps.

A poor choice.

The land is dead

And for good reason.

It is filled with quicksand.

We cross it quickly

Losing a tenth of us,

Reaching the other side,

An open savannah

Cut by an angry river

And a row of low brush clusters.

This will be our home

Till summer arrives,

Bringing the grazers

And the crawlers,

Both competing with us

For the succulent grass.

We promptly depart,

Following the river

To a waterfall,

Riding with gravity

Till the water runs out

At the tip of the desert,

Where Persephone’s

Darkest creatures live—

The skittering monsters

With razor-sharp pincers,

Spilling our blood

Across the rose-tinged sand.

The few of us

Who make it

Through the wasteland

Find ourselves parched,

Back at the lake

Where we first landed.

We have come full circle.

We have mapped the moon.

It is time to settle.

Tonight, I lie

Under the sullen red sky

By our space shuttle,

Sending a message

Back to our world,

Telling them we are alive.

We’ve learned to live

Here on Persephone,

Moving each season

To a more habitable zone,

For a time,

Living in harmony,

In rhythm with nature,

We’ve become a part of this moon.

Persephone has become our home.