Holly Rose Review

       Rehearsal for Living Without You

She swallowed all six
      Spring and summer here
                      When everything's nubile: new-
                                          Plowed earth napped as velvet
      Corn-blond silks quickly
                       Shucked into waiting hands, blush
                                          Of strawberries
Seeds from the pomegranate
      Staining my fingers...
                      When you’re gone, it’s always winter,
                                           Even though I wait
      Through spring rain, summer
                      Storms, each minute exact as
                                            A snowflake in its
Because she ached for
      Emptiness. I have
                      Six garnets in my jewelry
                                          Box—round, crimson and
      Irregular, no
                      Two alike...split from their chain
                                         Waiting to be strung
Something sweet, for this
      Into a rosary,
                      Which is, like each season,
                                           Only a measure
      Of time, persistence
                       Of memory, the distance
                                         Between heaven and
Her forfeit was suspended
     Hell, which is defined
                      As physical separation
                                         From the beloved.
     These garnets I hold
                     Are cold fire. I finger each bead,
                                         And my hands press
Between two worlds, both
     Against your shoulders,
                      My ankles arc across your
                                         Back. That was then, when
     We’d bud, bloom, burst
                     Out of our skins, then, when it
                                          All was pomegranate
Red, wet, and ripe. Ripe.

             Pamela Johnson Parker