It isn’t praise-worthy or intelligent

How the relic

With no arms

Stands

Precisely in his place

On the altar

Not because he is a god

Or even great

But because this is where he belongs

In two worlds

At once

–one seemingly mine + the other his own

Like persephone who eats the seeds of the pomegranate 

I eat from the spinach pastry

On the witches table

And discover

I too

Belong to two worlds

One seemingly theirs

And the other my own