Where I lived - winter and hard earth.
I sat in my cold stone room
choosing tough words, granite, flint,
to break the ice. My broken heart -
The voice is that of Demeter. Rather than addressing an audience of women in an intimate and sardonic conversation, this poem is in the form of a dramatic monologue. It is a spare opening – not a word is wasted – in which Demeter is in despair.
Demeter