Meada in Two Worlds

— for Samia
 

On the other side of the world
the sun bends down toward fall
and summer’s stalks stand withered in dry grass.
Hoofbeats sound, clock-clock on a dusty road:
A riderless horse.

This delicate blossom will not fade,
Her fragrant petals never turn and drop —
Greedy for her green beauty,
Death snapped her up
in one quick bite
as the molecules that make each moment
met in the perfect crossroads of time and space.
Now we follow her mother, mourning,
Straining to peer through the window between the worlds.

In our half of the globe
buds swell and burst their skins
as springtime breaks
and Persephone awakes,
rises to Demeter’s welcoming embrace.
And we rise, too, opening to receive
all that we can hold of love and grief,
Each good and awful facet of God’s face —
The gifts of all the seasons — all with grace.