In Hindsight, Demeter Thinks of What To Tell Her Daughter

0
April 20, 2014

by Andrea Potos
 

Not every danger points down
my daughter,
some stalk the air–his words–
beware his claims
of your beauty so great
he nearly crashed his chariot
at the glimpse of you on the road;
and your voice that caressed his ears
and petted him to sleep each night.

Beware the sturdy rope ladder of pleas
and appreciations he knots
together with expert hands.
You could climb those rungs, fit
your body through a window slit
where he waits behind,
dropping the bars
once you step in.
 
 

Contributor’s Notes: Andrea Potos is the author of four poetry collections, most recently We Lit the Lamps Themselves, from Salmon Poetry in Ireland. Her poems can be found widely in print and online.

In Hindsight, Demeter Thinks of What To Tell Her Daughter

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In Hindsight, Demeter Thinks of What To Tell Her Daughter

by Andrea Potos   Not every danger points down my daughter, some stalk the air–his words– beware his claims of your beauty so great he nearly crashed his chariot at the glimpse of you on the road; and your voice that caressed his ears and petted him to sleep each night. Beware the sturdy...

First Glimpse of Hades

by Andrea Potos     Shudders in the chest, palls of thrill in the air– Upon her…..an avalanche of fire and snow.     Contributor’s Notes: Andrea Potos is the author of four poetry collections, most recently We Lit the Lamps Themselves, from Salmon Poetry in Ireland. Her poems can be found widely in...

We Heard It Before We Saw It

by Andrea Potos   …………Trevi Fountain, Rome   that first exhausted day, dazed and wandering the cobblestones from Pantheon to Piazza di Spagna, we came upon it as one would discover a shining beast growing from the ribs of a palazzo– water traced back from a spring they say a young virgin once unearthed,...

So Long, Cy

by Mark Kerstetter (after Cy Twombly) So long C Y long so sigh in all fours solo slitherer C E R B E R U S  C H A L K B O A R D muddy sneakers polished floor a long slide [home? no, we’re not there, i’m not there, still in school,...

Thamyris

by Mark Kerstetter I. He was tethered to possibility. But his body, neither spring nor anchor, would not allow him, without letting go, reach the instrument broken at his feet. He held but a fragment, a mere stick. Caught comical, pathetic, useless stick hovering in air, his eyes rolled edge to mirror’s edge, his...


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