Review by Richard Vargas, RATTLE

Reading Pam Crow’s inaugural collection, Inside This House, reminded me of what it feels like to read a first book and be stricken by poet's envy, thinking to myself,  "Man, I wish I'd written that." Her poems are a smooth, subtle combination of craft, technical skill, and accessible language.

The Astraea Foundation presented her with their 1995 Emerging Lesbian Writer's Award, and I can only scratch my head as to why it took her so long to get a poetry collection published. Fortunately for us, she caught the attention of Main Street Rag Press, who highlighted her work in their Editor's Select Poetry Series.

The poems are divided into two sections. The first section, I Dream Leona Helmsly Comes to Dinner, weaves through the poet's past and present. Family relationships, awakening sexuality, the sacred joy of gardening, personal memories of home and navigating the ups and downs of childhood are presented to the reader with compassion and care. The second section is titled Delivery, and concentrates on slice of life moments in the here and now.

Crow is a clinical social worker, and the gentle demeanor required for her day job is reflected in her voice, as shown in the poem, Memorial Garden, where she ponders the act of gardening as a spiritual act:

You worship in the dirt,
on your knees with a trowel
in your hand...
You tell me you don't know
any God, but what of this
conversation of flowers?

She continues to use gardening as the framework of human relationships, calling upon the natural world to give voice to her emotions, as when she writes in her poem, Waltz:

...When you came painting mud on my cheeks
and waltzing with the Green Gage Plum
I rolled my eyes. It didn't stop you...

...And my heart,
that ancient black handbag,
wheezed open
exposing pale green
shoots of winter flowers.

Pam Crow apparently took to heart that generic advice all poets get sooner or later, (usually in the form of a rejection letter) "...continue to hone your craft." Her craftsmanship is above the norm, as displayed in the poem, Here, a modified sonnet. The ability to make the use of form appear effortless is just one more reason to envy this poet's skills.

How can one woman's skin hold so much light?
When my mouth brushes across the silken
desert of your belly, blossoms ignite...
...You invite
me deeper, where I can feel you open,
sense the heat adobe holds nearing night.

Add to this mix the fact that this poem is one of the most erotic and sensual love poems this reviewer has ever read is reason alone to buy this book.

Her words in Father Jailed in Baby's Death, hit home, tenderly describing a private scene we don’t see played out on the nightly news; a detective’s holding of a dead infant shows a man torn between paternal instincts and the grim realities of his job:

There is no life left and yet he carries
the infant as if she were sleeping.
He has carried babies before,
you can see it in the gentle
curve of his hands, her head
in the crook of his arm.

Pam Crow's poetic skills, combined with her talented voice, cover a wide range, making it a pleasure to turn the page as the reader realizes this poet has a lot to say...and says it so well.