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