Forgive me for killing

the houseplants again.

I have a penchant for stifling beauty

before it bursts forth—

loud and green as spring.

I once followed a man

from the train station

for whole city blocks—

in the freezing rain—

before realizing

that he was just another man

in another city

who didn’t look like you at all.

Is there a way to repent

for the things we haven’t yet done?

The crimes we haven’t committed?

How I would follow you—

as Persephone followed Hades

into the Underworld—

if only you would let me.

Queen of the Dead,

girl of two worlds,

I often find myself in graveyards.

Not to mourn the buried,

but to grieve for the living.

I bring them my dead flowers

as if that would make a difference.

And, like Demeter, mother to all,

savior to none, we sit and wait

for the release of a goddess,

and the return of spring.