Reviewed by Terrie Leigh Relf

The title of this book, as well as its title poem, is what immediately attracted me to this collection. Why? One might think that it could deter someone from reading. . .Who would want to read an "unfinished" book? Unless, of course, it is a book-in-process by someone whose work you admire. It is an irony or sorts, but an appropriate one for writers of all genres and forms. Is any work ever really finished until a reader "completes" it by reading or listening?

There are so many openings, or gates, in this collection, so much space that invites, and in some cases, urges the reader to keep breathing. While this experience is created in part by the actual physical space on the page, it is also through the themed selections and the order in which they appear throughout, the juxtaposition of pain and pleasure, of hope and fear, of delight with sorrow. If you've ever grown a vegetable or flower garden, for example, you know that weeds and parasites are as much a reality as exquisitely scented roses and lush juicy tomatoes.

Kolodji's cinquains are some of my favorite. "Baking with my Daughter" is particularly meaningful, as my daughter and I often make key lime pies together. It's a miracle that the pies have a crust what with our cavorting about the kitchen!

Baking with my Daughter

crushing
graham crackers,
we make two key lime pies -
sunlight fills up our kitchen with
laughter (9)

"A Change on the Breeze" is another one of my favorites. I can picture the narrator sitting in a garden, basking in the sun and scent of roses, while she relaxes into the flow of possibilities. This is one of those resonant poems that shows how "just being" is a powerful act indeed.

A Change on the Breeze

Rosebuds
in early spring --
scent of warmer weather;
I watch the possibilities
unfold. (11)

We see another aspect of Kolodji's work in "Strawberry Moon", which is a wonderfully hedonistic cinquain overflowing with a veritable collage of sensory delights. A fiery, sassy poem!

Strawberry Moon

Whipped cream
clouds swirl around
the night's purest moon glow -
in sheets of red satin, we dance
naked. (14)

As I write this, November is nearly over and December-and with it a winter of sorts-draws close. Here in San Diego, we've recently experienced Santa Ana winds, and what seasonal trees we do have are beginning to cast off their leaves. There is a sense of reckless abandon here-just imagine autumn hitchhiking. . .What is the nature of autumn's journey? Our own?

Gingko in November

gingko
yellow leaf fans
waving autumn goodbye
hitchhiking on wind gusts dropping
silent. (19)

"Our Final Winter" is a heart-wrenching eulogy that causes me to pause, to reflect, and to make a personal vow of "never again". . .

Our Final Winter

We stayed
together past
the time when love was dead,
bare branch of the family tree --
falling. (21)

Each time I turn the pages of unfinished book, another poem speaks to me. For me, like strolling through a gallery or a garden, it is important to pause, to take a deeper, closer look.