And the sparrows sang to me today,
gathered outside my prison cell
calling to me in hurried omens:
The door is open! The door is open!
I hushed them away.
For me to try and leave
would be like painting Adam and Eve
with belly buttons. Foolishness, all of it.
The pomegranate lies half-eaten,
the seed spilled, the sentence set.
Yes, the door is open
and the songbirds beckon
but the prisoner remains
to strike the canvas,
Persephone reborn to paint
the world forlorn and in shadow.
Copyright © 2012 by Christopher Chaffin – All rights reserved