The 21st or thereabouts
it starts; when everyone’s alight
or wrapped and giving. My life
Gurgling like a strangled straw
when the drink runs out
Shrinks down and out as light
Spins into empty.
A few grey hours every day,
Darkness laughing from the edges
chews and bites a little more at sunset.
The bottom of the slide where we
all tumble into lack of light,
Narrow, miserable, sad; we know
an ancient truth.
We are all Persephone.
In winter we go down into the dark.