Lana Hechtman Ayers
Demeter Addresses the Crow
Sleek silk-head omen,
you and your silty sisters burn
down the sky, volcanic sextants
screaming bloody fire—
every beast at its heart, molten—
and here in my yard, vaulting
the crooked ladder
of apple tree,
fruitless, have you come finally
to give me the gift of irony,
laughing exactly the same as
my departed Persephone?
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