I forgot to move my car.
Next to the vase
of wilted flowers
the pomegranate
fills both hands.
Outside trucks groan
to force a way on earth.
Meanwhile the world
races past roads.
I look for a new direction.
Everything and everyone
competes with the speed
of everything and everyone
while hurt feels like
it takes longer than ever
to pass.
It’s too late to slow down
to meet the wounds
with a kiss
but I must steady
the knife.
I’d like to be where I was
four lifetimes ago,
when this pomegranate
dropped into my hand
from the branch you shook.
It opened. I opened.
Then you were gone.
The taste was enough.
Any struggle was masked
by the pace of camels.
One slice now
and I can break open
this fruit
as full as the day
stain my hands,
sour my tongue
separate again and again
chamber from chamber
jewel from skin
break suck consume finish
then I’m kickin’ asphalt
the first red bud
to push through
the pavement.
This article appears in January 2014.
