Poetry |

“Middle School,” “Metamorphosis,” “Persephone’s Friends” & “Metamorphosis”

Middle School

 

 

Persephone and her friends brought

Waxed paper cups of ice cream

To the meadow by the river.

 

They tasted each other’s flavors.

Their laughter made ripples a heron

Mistook for alewives underwater.

 

Under some of their shirts

The first hiccups of puffy nipples.

They huffed webbed dandelions whose

 

Wishes floated in the air with a pop song

Throbbing tinnily from a neon phone.

Ants gathered on a plastic spoon.

 

Who knew the earth would open?

 

It was Tuesday in a small town.

They lay on their backs daydreaming

Into each other’s pierced ears.

 

 

*     *     *     *     *

 

 

Metamorphosis

 

 

Because I liked to bring the outside in

I had on my desk a painted bowl with

Three stones in it like eggs in a nest.

 

I liked to brood over them, to thumb

Their surfaces and think.

 

They were so gentle, a kind of pure

Potential. One afternoon

 

You made me monstrous, ghost

Of all you couldn’t control.

 

Looking for anything to lob, you lifted

The largest as I stood across the room.

 

Later I iced my collarbone and restored

The barren stones to the world.

 

 

*     *     *     *     *

 

 

Persephone’s Friends

 

 

When her story tore open they ghosted.

 

Dandelion gossamer, ducklings paddling

Hell for leather into the cover of cattails.

 

Then they biked into the blue afternoon

Of average adolescence. At home

 

They sulked in clothes-strewn bedrooms

And griped about setting the table.

 

They unfollowed her on Instagram

And blocked her cell. They cropped her

 

Out of images and didn’t say her name

Except to agree she never really was

 

That great a friend and maybe she was

Asking for it braless in that tank top.

 

 

*     *     *     *     *

 

 

Metamorphosis

 

 

Sometimes you seemed to want to make

Something dazzling from your rage.

 

You knew I liked it: the antique mirror

I’d bought at a dusty storefront run by sisters.

 

You grunted when you swung it from

The wall and flung it to the floor.

 

For an instant bits of slivered

Glass fell up like inverted rain.

 

And then it was over. Sure enough,

 

It cut me. And it took years to pull

The crumbs of glass out of the wool.

Leave a Reply

This site uses Akismet to reduce spam. Learn how your comment data is processed.