"Bubbling up in our own good time-- online."
Groundwaters Publishing, LLC
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Volume 7 Issue 2
Page 6
Page 6
That summer I built the cairn
for you at Lower Eddeeleo Lake,
I thought pomegranates all day.
You were in surgery
giving up your breasts to dream.
Each year, fall is a gift
whose container belies its contents.
Platters piled high with harvest offerings
love what’s round: apples,
asian pears, persimmons.
When you slipped into candle flame—
past the messy parts
of being female, of illness and death—
I hope you glanced back at how light
can linger in the dents of a pomegranate
still gracing the post-holiday table.
for you at Lower Eddeeleo Lake,
I thought pomegranates all day.
You were in surgery
giving up your breasts to dream.
Each year, fall is a gift
whose container belies its contents.
Platters piled high with harvest offerings
love what’s round: apples,
asian pears, persimmons.
When you slipped into candle flame—
past the messy parts
of being female, of illness and death—
I hope you glanced back at how light
can linger in the dents of a pomegranate
still gracing the post-holiday table.
| Pomegranates, Persimmons By Quinton Hallett |