Persephone

shifted her weight

in time to the point

she was making.

She never stood erect-

she was always

making a point.

 

Even with a potato peeler

there was an air

of menace-

she would mix it 

in with the mash.

 

Her threats had

the promise

of unwanted mail

of brown envelopes

the sort that fall when

any-news-is-not-

good-news arrive.

 

She would direct the traffic

of your bumper-to-bumper

thoughts:

your arguments ushered

down 'men-at-work' streets

your beliefs along

'unadopted' alleys.

 

Her laugh when accompanied

with that gentle shake of head

was more contagian 

than contageous.

She was fond of staring 

through open doorways.

 

When backwards glancing

her laugh would fill 

that empty space

and with our meeting 

eyes

adore my approach.