Dream of Persephone

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Is it possible, women like her

Have always stayed behind with the dying and the dead.

Not because they were told or because

Marauders took them but because they knew

In an angry, bewildered world of a thousand defeats

That only the insatiable, worm-tunneled, rhizome dimension

Held the way back to the burst of flowered seed?

The grass wakes after a winter that held no promise of new life

And everything gives a shout. 

Everything lifts its little fruit and holds

The new rain on its leaves.

Everything prepares to sparkle and claw for more before it

drops down again.

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J.P. White has published essays, articles, fiction, reviews, interviews and poetry in over a hundred-fifty publications. Read more.


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Elegy for a Buckeye

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Falling Apart like a Magnolia