Ceres in the garden
You wring yourself from me
a sort of ripening
a size-of-fist fruit pome
trailing smashed seed juice
you slip from my palms, lovelike
my plum pudding
prismatised in the light
in your soft proto-placental
such brilliant viscera
clot-red sangria
God, I could drink you in
like a wolf-mother
become whole again
my would-be queen
I inter you, earthbound
wrap you in clasps of root
hungry for bloodmeal
my small season
faithful tithing
for life-death-life
my hands cradle air
pray:
sap sunward
come spring
promise me
yolk pollen
blush bud
plump petal
Vera Zakharov was born in Moscow, grew up in the US and lives in East Sussex with her family. Her work has been published in the Madrigal Press, Sledgehammer Lit, ONCA Poetry Collective, Mum Poem Press and elsewhere.