Persephone Pauses by Carolyn Kizer The lengthened shadow of my hand Holding a letter from a friend Tells time: the sun descends again. So long, so late the light has shone. Since rising, we have shone with ease: Perhaps not happiness, but still A certain comfort from the trees Whose crests of leaves droop down in tiers, Their warm trunks veiled by aspen hair, Their honeyed limbs, the loosened earth About the roots; while flowers recline In dusty gardens, rest on weeds, Those emblems of a passing year. So be it! As I turn, my train Is plucked by spikes of summer grass. No clutch of summer holds me here. I know, I know. I've gone before. I glance to my accustomed glass, The shallow pond, but films of slime Waver across it, suck the verge Where blunted marsh frond cuts the air. But as I stare, the slime divides Like curtains of old green velour: I gaze into my gaze once more, Still veiled in foam. But then, the grim Tragedian from the other shore Draws near my shade. Beneath the brim, In motions formal and austere, We circle, measure, heel to hem. He proffers me an iron plate Of seedy fruit, to match my mouth. My form encased in some dark stuff He has bedizened, keeps me hid Save for that quivering oval, turned Half-moon, away, away from him And that excitement of his taste He suffers, from my flesh withdrawn. But this unwilling touch of lust Has moved some gentle part of me That sleeps in solstice, wakes to dream Where streams of light and winter join. He knows me then; I only know A darkened cheek, a sidelong lower, My nerves dissolving in the gleam Of night's theatrical desire, As always, when antagonists Are cast into the sensual Abysses, from a failing will. This is my dolor, and my dower. Come then, sweet Hell! I’ll name you once To stir the grasses, rock the pool, And move the leaves before they fall. I cast my letter to the breezed Where paper wings will sprout, and bear It on to that high messenger Of sky, who lately dropped it here, Reminding me, as I decline, That half my life is spent in light. I cast my spirit to the air, But cast it. Summertime, goodnight! Back to Page 2 of Demeter Home Page