i’m not in the habit of writing much poetry, but for some reason, i wrote a poem last November. i guess it needed to come out. enjoy.

I open the pomegranate

the way I open myself,

too fast

and with the tender sound of surrender.

The counter is jeweled

with its red, unruly heart.

Seeds spill out

bright, eager truths

I never mean to scatter,

before I think to wait.

I tell myself to take them slow,

one by one,

but I never do.

Greedy, I want the whole sweetness at once,

the way I want closeness

before I’ve earned calm,

before I’ve measured space.

Oversharing and its bitter aftertaste,

the empty cracks stare at me in silence I now face.

But then,

someone tastes the sweetness anyway,

unbothered by the stain.

And I remember

that nothing honest stays contained.

So, I keep returning to this fruit I savor,

letting it color my fingers

and my autumn afternoons.

Letting it teach me again

that the self was made to be messy,

and quietly loved as leaves catching golden hues.

I rinse the cutting board,

find stains that will fade in their own time,

hoping the light in me

lands gently

in someone’s hands.