Gris-Gris, an online journal of literature, culture & the arts

Persephone

(for Kate Lamont)

by Joy Bye

 

I watched you write a song once;

your mouth running

like a river in the dark,

 

your voice a gift

to the gods.

 

Dear moon,

gripping nothing,

this voice that swells the air all around

 

me pierces the shadows,

 

like an elegy to our youth. . .

 

like a kiss goodbye. . .

 

I watched you write a song once;

a small pyre inside

your words,

 

igniting the past,

 

as a moth to a match,

or the flashpoint of air.

 

When we were more than just parts

 

scattered

 

inside pieces. . .

 

before our babies. . .

 

our stained lips. . .

 

our rise to the earth.

 

I watched you write a song once;

your fingers clawing the organ

like its keys were the thick

flesh of fruit

 

that had to be taken in; eaten;

 

devoured–

 

in order that

we surface from

the dead. . .