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