Pomegranate

Pomegranate

So full of violence that it gave its name

To a hand grenade, so full of the bloody

Seeds waiting to burst forth in mayhem

In the face of whatever innocent is near,

I hate this fruit you want in your salad.

But my love for you makes me want to

Obey, so I take up yesterday’s left half

And begin to unfold it from inside, the

Hemisphere of death beginning to yield

The secret sweetness I could not abide.

Slower and slower I invert the natural

Order, bringing forth what was meant

To be concealed, letting the blood red

Fragments fall on the kneeling lettuce,

Waiting with the olives to be sacrificed.

Squads and platoons of these soft rubies

Tumble out from behind the tidy white

Curtains fitted around their charges like

Cannon wadding, layer revealing layer,

Until the rind is empty and now we eat.