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Alycia Steck '25

Pomegranate. The fruit of the underworld,

A word you can suck on.

Pucker on sweet grenadine

and a bitter taste from betrayal.

Pomegranate. It is a dandelion encompassed by pappi,

which prance, spiral, and pirouette

In a ghastly dance of death,

Dangerously beautiful.

With one slice, It's halves split to reveal ruby-like beauty,

a bloodstained mouth gaping with cavities of sparkling teeth. Crystalline blood.

The jewels of Hades pour into my lap, and with a single savored bite

The crimson ichor spills,

Splattering my lips and delicate fingertips,

Spurt zest.

Somewhere far above I sense, The mourning of a mother, my mother,

upon the frosted banks of a wailing river

as blades of cornstalks wither beneath her bitter gaze.

What more could pacify her icy fury than a singular fruit,

a plump, perfectly ripe pomegranate

and the bitter taste of betrayal.

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