I bought a pomegranate.

The fruit sat on my counter
for three days,
hard as a clenched fist.

When I cut it open

all those red chambers.

A hundred glossy reasons
to stay quiet.

I pulled the seeds free
my fingers stained

like I had touched
the inside of an animal.

I carried you around for months

like a mouthful of arils.
The promise of something sweet.

The reality of a hard bitter seed hidden inside
when I finally bit down.

You know, you can eat the entire aril–
the juice and the seed–
or chew the pulp
and spit out the seed.

I saw which seed would grow and which would not.

I swallowed all of them.

Delicious.