| Persephone This is the backyard at night You are a ghost, the crape myrtle is now pinked, but You can't see it. Sometimes dark is the only color. The pomegranates are seeding under the leather of Their own tight skins, you hunger for them, to hear them They sway and swing but never peal And so you want peaches, because the pomegranate is in your Hand. This yard is your x. You are here. When you are not here the yard waits, the blades stir Under the feet of cats, waiting. And in the night, it is dizzy With ghosts that drink beer and leave, because they won't wait. |