|
Amber Clark
Hibiscus
Hibiscus still reminds me of death --
Yours, on this fierce island
In a stillborn, tropical heat,
In a summer cottage that had no closets:
The living won’t be here long.
We watched the sun sink
and the moon rise
into a warm and languid night.
No breeze, save your wind of breath
A slow cadence, bent on slipping
with starfish and sand dollar out to sea
Love, you left a tidal ache
In this still-young body,
a spate of sorrow fisting
my solitary heart, in a paradise
meant for two
You’ve left this memory
moved only by what it can touch:
a conch shell, straining to hear, in the bedroom window
a sand dollar propped against the back splash of a sink
the jar of alabaster sand settling into a bookcase
and hibiscus arranging and rearranging themselves
in a vase on a table
as petals slip
from stem
to floor
©2005 by Amber Clark
After earning her B.A in English from The College of William and Mary, Amber Clark attended the Harvard-Radcliffe Publishing Institute. She is now a freelance writer and editor living on the Emerald Coast of Florida. Her work recently appeared in Underground Window, but in the world of poetry, she is just now beginning to emerge.
|
