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"Pomegranates" by Gray Hiatt





Pomegranates


Sunday I watched his fingers gracefully

pluck the small crimson seeds

of a pomegranate for you.

Is love just a bloody sacrifice?

Fingers stained red drenched

in afternoon light

soft through your kitchen window.

I find it hard to breathe in moments of peace.

When it seems like love is there,

just out of my grasp.

Coated on your teeth, the sides

of the bowl with the pomegranate seeds.

Why do I watch with such separation

when I am in the kitchen

eating oranges by the slice

calling on love like it’s my god?

Oh great Divine thing,

Save me from myself.

Open my eyes like a prophet

let me see you in his hands

In the late summer fruit

In your eyelashes

and in everything.

-


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