Winter Poem

Ok, so I realize as much as the next person that there are few things more tedious than having to read mediocre poetry. So, to both of you, if you came here for something else, you’ll have to wait a while longer.

This is my fourth completed poem, and it took so long that I am compelled to publish it. This because I don’t think it’s going to show up in an anthology any time soon. Knowledge of the myth of Persephone (pronounced Persephonee) is a prerequisite. Oh, and it will help to look up Tantalus too. In the version I read as a child, Persephone soothed him by holding water to his mouth and gathering fruit from the trees above him.

Winter Poem

Winter is a pomegranate seed
half-eaten and discarded
despised by Persephone

changed at once from bright crimson trophy
conquered, soiled, then left abandoned
shamefully bearing its history.

Tantalus said “Here. Seed. She ate.
She will not leave us now.
We will be happy.”

as Demeter’s pretty progeny flew absolutely terrified
through corridors and corridors
of washed-out portrait memories.

This I ponder, scraping ice from my windshield
or holding bare legs over sun-scorched leather seats.
How when one hope’s commitment oppresses
the other’s extremes seem serene.

Perhaps she agreed, learning to covet her husband Hades,
and longing for shade in the depths of Summer heat
like me dreaming of frost during fitful feverish sleep.

So I look in pity every time I see a scorned seed.

I, for one, thank poor Pluto and truly love Persephone.
It was her pain that made the world gray
and only her pain that again makes it green.

-AO IV