Customize Consent Preferences

We use cookies to help you navigate efficiently and perform certain functions. You will find detailed information about all cookies under each consent category below.

The cookies that are categorized as "Necessary" are stored on your browser as they are essential for enabling the basic functionalities of the site. ... 

Always Active

Necessary cookies are required to enable the basic features of this site, such as providing secure log-in or adjusting your consent preferences. These cookies do not store any personally identifiable data.

No cookies to display.

Functional cookies help perform certain functionalities like sharing the content of the website on social media platforms, collecting feedback, and other third-party features.

No cookies to display.

Analytical cookies are used to understand how visitors interact with the website. These cookies help provide information on metrics such as the number of visitors, bounce rate, traffic source, etc.

No cookies to display.

Performance cookies are used to understand and analyze the key performance indexes of the website which helps in delivering a better user experience for the visitors.

No cookies to display.

Advertisement cookies are used to provide visitors with customized advertisements based on the pages you visited previously and to analyze the effectiveness of the ad campaigns.

No cookies to display.

Radianza  

By Louisa Loveridge Gallas

Pears. Whoever named you
must have been tired while
harvesting in the orchard.
You should have light
in your name, “radianza,”
“peartasia,” murmurations
of vowels not one syllable
closed quickly
with consonants!
Fruitful teardrop
of bright flesh
freshness of cool water
Van Gogh,
Monet, Matisse
illuminate you
in gleaming bowls
on vivid table cloths
tilting at the edge
of vintage tables,
still lifes graciously hung
at eye level in museums
where we turn
a corner suddenly
to gasp
at your curves,
luminescence.
So sweet yet
indescribably something
unnameable, elusive,
kiss of young lovers,
tender with a slight nip
of mystery
full of promise that makes
old artists weep and paint
your lusciousness
on the poignant fabric
of memory.

A bushel basket of pears picked by the poet. Photo by Louisa Loveridge Gallas.
A bushel basket of pears picked by the poet in October. Photo by Louisa Loveridge Gallas.

 

 

Write A Comment