Pomegranate

The sky is sometimes there

when I wake up alone in the city,

and it tastes sweet on my skin,

like her lungs would
on my lips:

sweet like the pomegranates we picked
from the etched fable tree in the bayou,
sweet like the gold buttermilk skin
of those freshwater cods we unearthed
from the old Indian man’s garden
during your schoolboy days at Westbrook
Washington: summer days of 62.

Pale-eyed mama groans on blue moons
as the red c**k crows and parts her hips
for three gold leaves. The God of Harvest
rings his bronze bell, cracked like the pipe
I hold between these two good fingers.
Now kiss me, darling, and tell me it’s not too late
to save the beauties I never meant to harm
because, darling, you are damn beautiful
all dressed in black. 

Reviews

[Coyote Poetry]

Nice use of words and thoughts in the poem. Pomegranates bring back memories to me about life and people. I like the places and the very good ending to the poem. Thank you for sharing the excellent poem.
Coyote

[Solomon]

#EscapingParadise, muchos gracias! I had fun writing this for sure :) It's a poem about society, adolescence, manhood & a lack of respect for women. I'm happy it spoke to you and I'll try to keep making poems like this more often :)

Glad you enjoyed!

[Andrea]

this poem is incredible. It is very very emotional and deep. I am actually speechless and I mean that in the best of ways. Your poem is simply striking. brilliant job.