Persephone

I found it appropriate 
that night,
to light every candle
I could find.
27 in all.
Glimmering their 
stupid light
against the windows,
the polished wood
of the coffee table.

To be alone,
it looked like a shrine
to myself,
to some misfortunate
god, lost enough to
reside in my
broken body.
I slumped into
the throw pillows.
Feeling the light of my 
temple.

A sacred sleeping
I felt it coming on
in the first snow
as it hit gentle
against the dark casements.
Each soft falling
rang in my ears
incessantly.
The darkness at 3:00,
the radiator's fit-full
hissing in the night.

The buttery light
of my foraged candles
trying to block out the cold,
the season of death,
a despair to Demeter.
I cursed the whole Pantheon
for letting this happen,
as I sat in my living room,
my face washed in a religious light.

I fortified myself against
the snow, the cold,
telling the wayward god inside
to please,
stay a little longer,
burn these candles with me.