seeds

my mother loved pomegranates. so does james. and now that i know how to eat them, so do i. i was overjoyed to see the first few at the co-op the other day. small, humbly covered with bruises and scars, they don't look like much. at first glance, the fruit can seem intimidating, rugged, uninviting and time consuming. but almost like an old trucker with that tough exterior, inside lies true sweetness. peel it apart, and behold the beauty and mystery of nature. containing a fractal of a thousand faceted jewels of the brightest ruby red, which behold the deepest blood sweet tangy juice, the pomegranate is a gift of bounty for a time when the weather shifts and the cold turns us inward. peeling those seeds delicately from their skin, i begin to realize the virtues of patience, diligence, and persistence.

Pomegranates
by Hilda Morley

My chin is stained with the dark-red

pomegranate juice

This autumn I have eaten pomegranates

knowing their seeds were symbols

of a rebirth
All night we were close to death

All night death lived with us
We have been living death
too long now

How many months is it?

I have walked often along the river

evenings face wet my hands in my pockets

staring at the late sunset & the haloed lights
of boats moving slowly
stately in the fog
beyond all misery

relentless