by Pandora Peoples
Barefoot in Victorian lace
amid the mangled thorny briars,
brambles and vines twisted
around crestfallen trees.
Ah, the netherworld Goddess
emerging from the fleshy
deterioration of the psyche,
in ordinary madness,
full of woe,
having been torn asunder
from her mother's bosom,
having ridden into the night
with her enigmatic husband
into the dimensions of the afterlife,
the restless, the absurd, and the hopeful
amid the chaos of angels and pathfinders
writhing in a fiery dance
like twisting snakes and tethery roots.
She emerges from the Winter 'hibernation',
composing herself as any woman would
who had swapped a vacation
in benign pastoral ubiquity
for a six months of passionate hellfire
in the dark recesses of the rock.
Half-living in the suffocating darkness
with the gigantic heart of the earth,
pounding at her sleeping ears,
pulsing, surging and quaking,
shooting lava through arteries
into tomorrow's Hawaiian sunset.
Sweaty, breathless, trembling
and ready for the quiet beauty
of the crocus meadows,
sunlight streaming,
cloudy twirling in the laughing sky.
The bunny munching clovers,
its paws on the cool grass touch the soul
like butterflies on children's cheeks
and happy coos of sleeping babies.
Sweet meadow lark,
good robin red breast,
the cardinal and blue jays
punctuate the wisps of wind with gay chatter.
The dawning of a new age.
Ay me! To be home again.
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