Saturday, August 01, 2015

Persephone by Diane Dehler


I can be seen
slipping down the dusk
in a thin black boat.
Oars made of my
wooden love, send
chilly notes of reproach
through watery channels.
I pass beneath frozen
rocks that dazzle me
cold black and grey designs.
A solitary bell tolls,
Persephone’s bell
ringing an ancient time.
One moment past tragedy
hours before dawn.
Remembering roses and
sunlight, windy clouds,
Rain on my face.
There are crevices where
my eyes once were.
You who have tasted the
Bitter red fruit
of love, we know one
another you  and I.

Diane Dehler

First published in The Taj Mahal Review, Vol 2 Number 12, 2014

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