teresa t. chappell
I.
I remember my mom
as youthful, still cracking jokes
while lying in a hospital bed, laughing
her deep belly laugh, as if
she would live forever.
II.
Persephone reaches for the narcissus,
strokes her own ego, enlarging
it with naiveté–unknowing
that if she pulls the flower
too quickly, too eagerly, she might
yank out the roots; dirt might
spill down on her and bury her
in her grave. Obstinately unaware
that Hades would open
the earth and let it crumble
in around her, steal her
from the breathing
world and take her
for his own.
***
Teresa T. Chappell is a poet passionate about tethering the unseen onto the material. Her work has been published by Coffin Bell Journal, Indie Blu(e) Publishing, and Variant Literature. Besides writing, her hobbies include reading, eating, and swimming in the Long Island Sound.