Poetry by Jael
Persephone's Daughter
by jael bietsch

Where I was born into fall,
know harsher products of love, she,
product of possession and pomegranate
seeds, opens blossoms with fingers' breath,
closes scattered stones into fists,
needs know day's
descent into darker places, must
replace me my fate.

Perhaps she was born to relive eternity's
escape from my sins. Hell's hostage
with pomegranate hair:
suffering begets wisdom. Be grateful
to dead poets for torching the stair
with blue gentians.

And yet, I must know an eternity
of nights pressed into her berth
fingering softer products of her heart,
turning the stones, counting the turn
of winters until she returns to my weary arms.

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    © 1995 Jael Bietsch

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    March 8, 2000