I approach a day of raking
like I have arrived at a crime scene,
finding evidence that Persephone’s
white arms were dragged by;
her nails digging into the earth
as she clawed against being pulled
into the early darkness, the shorter days –
she scratched October’s face until he bled
the colors of a parade, and left a cryptic
message in the curled leaves on my lawn.
From the center of the world
she paints this picture of the fires
all around her; a portrait that breaks
in the wind and that I collect into piles.
Looking at the bursting colors
still clinging to the branches is
just a reminder that she’s been taken.
A sick ransom note from her captor,
like a naked picture of her outline
at the beach while
her curves eat half the sun.
Copyright © henry toromoreno, 2009. All rights reserved
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