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Persephone Rises by Andrew Brenza
A mist of seedlings blurs the silt;
A violet vapor threads the trees;
A pink moon hangs light like silk
Stirred by a fledging breeze.
The thrum of longing fills my ears,
My hair extends like leafless trees;
Mother’s face is a field of tears
Jeweled with mourning bees.
My sallow arms, I lift to hold her,
I kiss the lichen of her cheek;
She pulls me to her blooming shoulder
And weeps and weeps and weeps.