15
Perceptions of Hades
As
Recorded in Persephone's Diary
I
At this hour,
I float
away from your shadow,
a bubble blown
or imagined
by a girl of six,
maybe your daughter.
It pops
on the neighbor’s porchlight
with a small wet smack
ending yet another dream
that I can live
without you.
Perhaps my escape
was a child’s thumb
plucked
from a sucking mouth,
at least its round trip
ended with sound like that.
2
Every day
my thoughts slip
one molecule at a time
away from your kingdom
of tunnels
and madness
into mesquite canopies
where hunting whipsnakes
flex their lengthy muscles
from thorny branch to branch.
Moving air
from summer’s exhalation
circulates the scent
of congealing late-night panic,
passing through arroyos
into neighborhoods
where windows shudder
at the sight
of sun
in
the veined red eyes of dawn.
3
Summer’s glare
strains into living rooms,
spreading over aging wives
asleep on
chairs
in underwear.
Sun strikes
glass,
tissue lint drifts in air,
lured from twisted shreds
trapped in crocheted blankets.
But in the
shade
of your damp firmament,
kisses move with rushing sounds
enveloping me from everywhere,
and you don’t care
if I am gray-haired,
fat,
or
breastless.
4
Purpose evaporates
in a reflexive burst of thistle-seeds.
Seeds glide down on parachutes
brushing earthen flanks
of burning-dry
acequias.
Demeter’s hand
sifts such seeds through shadows
in her daughter’s mind.
She spins
around
in Zia’s dance to grow new corn
tornadoes daze New Mexico.
Husbands pull
their
young wives down.
Drought abounds. A daughter’s life
seeps underground.
5
Plumed seeds land in arroyos
where water stored for Indians
vanished into
Texas,
where innocence
and munificent mothers’ tears
streamed,
trickled,
dried.
Demeter searches for liquid beads
to string her daughter’s psyche
into a silver rope
for climbing slopes
of Hades’
hold
to a mesa top
of sanity.
6
The dark folds me
in river silt and cottonwood ashes
blown from the Pueblo
of Isleta
into the water swirling
around my father’s death.
I lie down
in irrigation ditches
beside abandoned bodies
of men I could
have loved
and hold their skeletons.
7
My mother wanders
on levies
in her loose black dress
using a Oaxacan cane
to divine directions
from my sadness.
Its parrot head
speaks to me in Spanish,
repeating
names of men
I never slept with.
Her toes may graze
my marriage crown.
Its tips emerge
like willow shoots
from deposits of salt
and tamarisk needles.
My mother
closes her eyes.
The river reaches south
and dies.
And
so you will lie
and rock beside me
in the darkening ebb of time.
8
You kiss my wrist, its pulse, and stay,
saying
my
channel wash
with its dragging sound
of quail bones tangled
in leaves and algae
is fine,
and what I say
or don’t say
will n(ever) leave
your mouth
or mind.
9
Boldly take me,
Hades,
shadow inside
me,
hand
on my soul,
into your lonely den
where secrets aren’t lies
I tell to myself.
Take me from places
where nothing,
not even dogs
or
fathers,
can step without fear
of small things
dying,
of someone
wetting a bed.
10
Here
is where I turn around
to the sound of dogs
from childhood
barking in
joy
to see me.
My hands
remember fur and tongues.
I follow footprints
back to paths
where shoebox pets
were carried solemnly
out to a backyard realm
of earthworms
and tiny mouths.
Their deaths were absorbed
with kissing
sounds
similar to whimpers
of prostitutes
asleep
on underground trains.
11
In this crawlspace,
you lifted my soul from poems
and embraced its swirl
of surrender,
pulling out spines
from words and rhymes
and jamming them
into your heart, but,
trapped in
labyrinths
of a raped girl’s mind,
you almost bled to death
mouthing praises
I didn’t recognize,
pleading for love
in foreign languages
only my parrot,
who died from
neglect,
could translate.
12
Do you know
O dark asymmetrical
whorl of unknown
The dam of my soul cracks open
into your endless flowing.
I veer down the infinite
drain of this universe
as it bypasses heaven,
where hell
is a diversion route
to someone else’s explanations
for God
and
dying.
I turn without yield signs,
knowing no destination
or reasons to stay or leave
save the warmth
of
your rising flood in me.
13
And every
night,
my thoughts pace downward
using someone else’s feet
until the end of my knowledge
is reached.
For one last
time,
last time,
last time,
I take that dark frightening
bungie-cord flip
away from netscapes
keyed for the seeing
down into the furious
inner roar of being,
clutched by
Hades’ gravity.
14
Cottonwood leaves
choke ditches
and sewers,
gather in pools of old women’s eyes.
Tanagers fledge their young, fly south.
Red feathers
bleed from river sides.
You
think of suicide.
Your thoughts reach in my mind.
Autumn calls my name,
Persephone!
I cry to my mother,
Goodbye,
I love him!
Goodbye.
15
Know, Thief,
brief traveler
to
surface plains
to wed my soul with yours,
that I find
all dispersed stars
and every
black hole
of my imploded self,
intact,
revolving
like a newborn galaxy
on spokes that arch
outward from your deepest
velvet
love
of me.
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