Demeter of the Ex-Urb
No blade, but a bract, rasped edges
ranged towards danger, tip observant,
mistress of spathe, spikelet, glume
and peduncle, I stand my ground,
a Demeter of the ex-urb, a goddess
of the small plot, my fool, a darting
hummingbird, my heckler, a crow,
croaking from the shadowing,
my green fuse stutter-stepping—
paling to the point of guttering,
barbarian weeds already creeping—
and then re-flaring, fierce in a campaign
of ripped roots, a flailing of the blunt
trowel, me blinded by brow-sweat.
(after Cristina Troufa’s painting Espada)
by Devon Balwit
Editor’s Note: The complexity of the images and nod to classical mythology gives this poem weight beyond that of a simple narrative, yet the final line reminds the reader that we are all only human.
Leave a Reply