Persephone by Diane Dehler

                                                                                                

Persephone

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