Poemgranate

Autumn Hill

From the homemade kitchen

My grandma hands me

A ripe and gorgeous pomegranate

Held in its napkin -- It is all I need

 

I bite into its bitter red shell directly with my teeth

And my fingers pick, exposing its white flesh and juicy red,

With such ease in small, calloused hands

 

I have always been a messy eater

With pieces of food finding its way down a mountain

To be eaten off the pasture 

But amongst pigs and chickens

Ripping apart a pomegranate

With my teeth seems like 

the most civilized thing to do