“Persephone Picks Lilacs” by Paula Sergi
Imagine sucking the blossom,
subtle taste of grape.
She’s dreamed lovers entwined
and misses her husband.
Pale morning light drives her
to the garden where robins pull
red earthworms from the ground.
They look confused. It’s colder
than the sun had promised.
Who grafted these flowering trees,
one branch white popcorn fluff,
the other screaming pink?
The gardener says whoever plants
that way, no matter who she is,
does not understand how branches rub
forcing sores that won’t heal.
Two days ago she spotted
pre-pubescent buds and felt restraint.
She knows what early plucking does,
how deep roots grow in winter’s
frozen ground. But after days of rain
she strays to pick lilacs. Neighbors
nod forgiveness. They know
who brings them Spring.
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Paula Sergi Artist Statement:
I’m a poet, essayist and editor. My previous work as a public health nurse informs my writing, as does my interest in Taoism. I live at the confluence of a man made creek and the Fond du Lac river with my husband and adult son. We enjoy collaborating on household chores and attending musical performances.
I grew up here, playing in the creeks and fields that surrounded my childhood home. I enjoyed living in the Pacific Northwest for many years, where rain encourages one to sit near a wood burning stove and drink tea.
