Persephone’s Child

by Janet Crawford Trenchard
copyright 2011
A refugee of time,
I wander knee deep
over and through
used broken things,
scanning left to right,
pulling myself forward,
between crumbling pillars
as the debris begins to thin out.
Stepping lightly now
over splintered boards, dirt,
old mattresses.
I have survived,
drawn to the orange-red horizon,
longing to sink my hands
into the glowing fruit
floating ripely there,
to read with hungry fingers
Demeter’s code;
the mystery of the seeds
that refresh the world.

Categories: poem by janet crawford trenchard

2 replies

  1. It’s like call and response from the universe.


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