by a contributor
Will you object if I called you now?
Not through phone lines,
to hearts that have stopped beating.
Not with a voice that had learned
the language of trees
(ivy and oak, my dear)
I mean call you through this rip in my room.
Through the hole in my bed
I can plunge my arm through.
Call you up from the winter month
to where you need to be.
My voice red as a pomegranate seed.
Valentina Cano is a student of classical singing who spends whatever free time she has either reading or writing. She also watches over a veritable army of pets, including her six, very spoiled, snakes. You can find her here: carabosseslibrary.blogspot.com.
See Vanessa’s 5 Things You Should Read in our ongoing contributors’ series.
dangg “my voice red as a pomegranate seed” is just the loveliest. i love this poem.