The woman glares down for decades.
Her eyes dare me to look away,
to notice adobe when she will not
be housed in a pale box.
Behind her stands the First Mother,
looking back, beside her a child
with the face of Pan. But she--
she is Eve who needs no Adam.
She is Persephone fresh from Hades.
She is the corn maid from every harvest.
The gold frame means nothing,
it cannot hold her.
This poem previously appeared in Write Denver/AMWA.
Karen Douglass has published short fiction, three novels, Accidental Child, Providence and Invisible Juan, and five books of poetry. Karen is a member of Lighthouse Writers’ Workshop, Academy of American Poets, and Columbine Poets of Colorado. She has been twice nominated for the Pushcart Prize. Her publication list is available at www.KVDbooks.com.
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