Susan Kress

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Demeter and Persephone on Saint Valentine’s Day

Does love hurt? my daughter asks.
She cuts out hearts

from stiff red paper, glues them
to white cards, pierces each one

with an arrow. Instead of answering
I close the curtains against the winter storm,

then fill her water glass.  In my head,
I check off tragic heroines, dread

the monsters in disguise and primed
to pounce—white bull, triumphant swan, serpent.

My daughter puts aside her scissors,
stares down at her empty glass,

What if no one ever loves me?
I realize an I do from her mother will not

fly. Instead, meeting her halfway, I say
That’s not necessarily the worst thing.

Outside, the soft grass withers
under the weight of snow.

Susan Kress, born in England, now resides in Saratoga Springs, New York. Her poems appear (or are forthcoming) in Beloit Poetry Review, Calyx, The Southern Review, Nimrod, New Ohio Review, Salmagundi, and other journals. Three poems have been nominated for the Pushcart Prize.