Kathryn Liebowitz
Persephone
Arms full of roses, hair a cinder frizz around her foxy face. An elfin four-feet-five, straight out of Middle Earth via a Parisian boutique. On an errand, whether of mercy or drollery, who knows? Darts in and out of the flower vendors’ stalls, reaches for snapdragons, foxtail lilies, callas; holds a bunch of blue irises close to her heart, poised to purchase; then vanishes behind an urn full of blossoming cherry. Her age? Judging from the lines around her eyes and sunken cheeks under the rouge, somewhere past the midpoint of this dark wood. Utterly unlike the rest of us over-caffeinated, slovenly dressed flower designers. I could never imagine her answering to anyone, taking orders. And why should she, coming from the underworld. Abandoning her mother, as she did. Her hunger for experience cost her half a year’s sojourn underground for the rest of her immortal life.
a weather change in the wildflower field... empty coat hook
About the Author
The practice of haiku, haibun, and tanka brings Kathryn Liebowitz full circle, reviving her love of the minimal, the spare, and the fragmented. She draws inspiration from ancient and contemporary art and literature (Asian and otherwise). When not at her desk, she’s walking the woodland trails near her home in Groton, Massachusetts, or rock-hopping on the coast of Maine.