Eating a Pomegranate
I wait for the grocer to turn his back
before slipping it into my pocket.
Soon I am eating a pomegranate
thinking about India
looking for scarves, Shiva.
I feel the seeds pop like rain.
Tonight I will sleep in its hollow peel.
But for now I try to imagine what
this must look like to the grocer,
these exotic fruits appearing, disappearing.
1 comment:
This may seem like brown-nosing, but I am well aware that compliments don't earn grades: I had no real appreciation for poetry before reading yours.
I like your style. A lot.
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