"PERSEPHONE'S FEAST DAY" - A Samhain Poem

 

Persephone's Feast Day

 

When all the names are gone

fallen like fraying leaves

before the coming of frost;

when there is nothing left

for memory to feed upon

November incubates

an unborn rhythm,

a silent heartbeat.

 

Perhaps all the wastes

of love and time

ferment their healing,

underground, here

in these Nigrado depths,

becoming at last Albedo,

the medicine.

 

But today, there is no valor

in this rooting among decomposing fragments

of so many lives.

 

I offer now bread, red fruit, red wine to life.

To the voiceless, the lost, hungry, and fallen,

to every transparent lover wandering

these grey Bardos in their solitude.

 

Come to the table all.

Here is a rich conversation

harvested from the last living garden

a dappled pear, an apple, a pomegranate.

a butterfly in its chrysalis, winged, moist,

 

the slow rebirth of color

deep in the depths of this dream.

 

The great Wheel will turn again.

The wheat has new life in it yet.

The blessing will still be given.