Persephone's absence

Mid April and still no sign of her.
Frozen earth and naked branches,
a three month affair now flows over five
forcing us to hide inside from winter winds.

Come back, Persephone!
And let us feast on the fruits of summertime.
Put down the pomegranate seeds and send spring
so we can watch damp dirt dry
because your mother will cease to cry
and will restore the warmth with her love for you.

Dry Heaves

Alzheimer's stole her life
like pages missing from a book,
tearing out chapters by the handful.

And when she died I couldn't cry
but I hung my head over the toilet
trying to gag up the missing pieces.

Anchored then in my rippled reflection
I looked my grip around the rim
and remembered all that she couldn't

Georgia rips and Kent cigarettes,
soap operas and back scratches,
my name and her mother's face.

I added her story to mine
and flushed away her sickness
with he tearless toilet water.