LOSS REFUSES SAFETY
Vacation in Pompeii: gardens, wine and
statuary --
Roman leisure at its best. What we see,
though:
dead, immortal. At some point here in
Southern
California, we'll have a devastating
earthquake.
Where I live, there's plenty that could
fall on me
and on my husband, cat, neighbors like
the man
across the street who's mentally
disheveled, occasionally
raving -- usually simply wants us just
to give him something.
This is my neighborhood, my home,
exactly what Pompeiians
had, along with gods like Dionysus who
brought them grapes
and theater. A mosaic of a woman shows
her slightly open
mouth, as if she wants to say how much
she relishes the necklace
that she's wearing -- beads carry a
jeweled cluster to her throat.
Hundreds of years from now, I hope our
private histories will have been
written on retrofitted walls which last
beyond the quake. I hope my story
mentions Robert, born to madness, and
the couple in the next apartment,
Daniel and Lindsay, who are getting
married in a month. Let us write
ourselves as difficult, devoted, loyal
about love: Pompeiians put their arms
around each other as they died. The
necklace and the slight embroidery on her dress weren't saved, but
when I look at her -- this Pompeiian soul -- here she is, looking
right back at me. Everybody has a
chance at immortality when there is no escape.
2017 Holly Prado
photo by Alexis Rhone Fancher
Bio: Holly Prado
has had twelve books published, primarily poetry and prose poetry,
but also a novel, two novellas, and a book of short autobiographies.
She's the recipient of the 2016 George Drury Smith Award for
Outstanding Achievement in Poetry, given annually by Beyond Baroque
Foundation. Along with her husband Harry Northup and poets James
Cushing and Phoebe Ozuna, she's a member of Cahuenga Press, a poets
cooperative publishing press, now in its 26th year.
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