when she looked between her legs
it appeared that she had given birth
to a pomegranate. she raised it well,
watered it daily, gave it sponge baths
as necessary. when it came time to eat
her little baby's seeds, she did it gently
(more)
and tried not to cry. the pomegranate
didn't flinch. it was made for this. as the
mother munched the tiny arils, she thought
of the pomegranate's father, of how their
juicy loins (how her and him and their
pomegranate daughter) birthed and died
on their own that night and every night after.
(less)
