Persephone Resists Her Myth
       

I'm a sliver of light under a locked door,
a scythe, a parable whispered at bedtime,

my sex, the cure and the curse
that cinches me into this dress fashioned

from shadows, weds me to the moment
I was taken. Stop holding vigil.

Forget me. Let the grass green.
I am not a warning, the siren you sound

when your daughters, under guise of picking flowers,
wander out of earshot, whispering

He loves me. He loves me not.

Tweet

Copyright © 2019 Sarah McKinstry-Brown All rights reserved
from This Bright Darkness
Black Lawrence Press
Reprinted by Verse Daily® with permission