Persephone’s Blues Song
Megan Grumbling
The blues, down there, got dark.
Slate-blue, bruised cobalt. Worse than the usual
solemnities, the chilled goblet and robe.
Nightshade and coal. Cold sentences
of cannot.
The blues leave blind spots.
Somewhere between the blue of need
and the blue of want, my eyes cease
to adjust. To abide my milk-blue cast
in the glass.
The blues send me above for a dose
of solace. Robin’s egg and gold.
Summer freckles, honey and rose.
This town’s ever warmer harbor
nearly green.
The blues beg bright things freed.
Larkspur in my brow, lemon
in my blonde. Inklings far too fair
and far too fleet to be kept
in the dark.
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Slate-blue, bruised cobalt. Worse than the usual
solemnities, the chilled goblet and robe.
Nightshade and coal. Cold sentences
of cannot.
The blues leave blind spots.
Somewhere between the blue of need
and the blue of want, my eyes cease
to adjust. To abide my milk-blue cast
in the glass.
The blues send me above for a dose
of solace. Robin’s egg and gold.
Summer freckles, honey and rose.
This town’s ever warmer harbor
nearly green.
The blues beg bright things freed.
Larkspur in my brow, lemon
in my blonde. Inklings far too fair
and far too fleet to be kept
in the dark.