Snowfall

The earth is frozen

the crops die

the people starve.

It is the first winter.

There is no history for this

no warning of foliage change

no gradual autumn.

This is grief, sudden and vicious.

This is rage, indescribable.

Who has stolen the treasure,

has breached the sacred stronghold?

What is the daughter

but the mother's own form

made again to be shaped into

her own image?

Who then has stolen her self?

Demeter rages for justice.

The earth is emptied.

The womb is bereft

The cradle abandoned

each of these losses

Demeter has borne

for the filling of another space,

the orchard of her lilting laugh

the little rivers overflowed with her songs.

This theft bears no new fruit.

The seed is fallen deep into the earth

and has not bloomed again.

No salve for the soul

that has been stretched into two skins

that has been severed

into two selves.

Demeter is at once alone

and lonely.

The people starve

The crops die

The earth is frozen.

Six red seeds fall like blood,

are planted in the daughter's womb.

Death grows in her bones.

The self will not return.

A separate soul arrives from Hell.

Winter is born.