Photo courtesy of The Shutterbug Eye
POMEGRANATE
Here you are — alive.
Would you like to make a comment?
- Mary Oliver
One ruby seed as a memento – already lost
in lush March grass trampled into mud
by hooves or swarmed by a squabble of flies.
This morning, as if still asleep in a dream
parallel to daylight, you walked
the pasture among horses perfectly at home,
not wishing anything. Snow-drops on a stalk,
wild iris in the meadow. Split husk
of pomegranate – you dropped one seed,
translucent as sunrise, ghost of Persephone’s
globed fruit – as you walked between
sky and earth that bears your footprints,
a seed, an unsent letter.
