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,
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,
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.