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flora
I identify more with the pomegranate
than I do with the human race.
not to say I'm as satisfying or as beautiful
or even as sweet as a pomegranate
but perhaps upon first glance there are similarities.
in my coloring:
flushed cheeks are an inevitability;
at any given circumstance
I'll turn at least 3 shades of pink.
it appears as though even my body is indecisive.
I'm not much to look at
from the outside
those who know what is within may tell you otherwise,
but you won't welcome me
until you have seen the scarlet jewels for yourself.
as I grow older, I'll shrivel
the seeds will turn brown
lose their crunch
my skin will surrender its pigment, its fulness
and,
eventually,
its life.
if you manage to break me open, I bleed red.
I'll stain the hell out of your carpet, trust me
but there's always a tide pen somewhere
and there's always new pomegranates.
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