Persephone Speaks - Poem by Nina Kossman
I'm a backward
sound of myself.
I twist, I turn
through sheer virulence
of habit sleep
that measures me in bursts
of agony, hoary and private.
I ask, I bless.
I speak the raw material of memory:
only flowers here still recall the dead.
I am a green begonia.
I am a red
petal on the stem of morning.
I am, I am...
save me from these shattered
words, repetitive illusions.
I am dark, uncountable.
I am the meaning of a syllable
the ancients said and dropped.
I am the one the clouds dream of
when their vapor eyes are shut.
The weeping wall, the nakedness of heart...
Disinterestedness, now let me go.
You said: it's guaranteed-
the backward glance, the exit,
the twisting back, back, back...
Now let me go, beauty grass.
Your kisses pain me
like all that dies pains that which doesn't.
I am the eye-nerve of your marriage,
I bless, I bless.
I am a friend to all that breathes.
I beg you: do breathe me in;
and let me disappear in you:
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