Blogging & Poems, My Poems, My Writing Challenges

Pomegranate

 

This is how it happens—he lifts
the dress above your head

and brings it down around
your hands. You become

a peacock, all feathers,

all lace. You breathe
deep, shrinking

your frame as he fastens
the eye-hook, zips up

the dress. Then, the shoes—crows’ feet—

and you are ready.
As you are presented, you realize

this event is on reverse:
the male, in flaming color,

wears black. You, in startling white, hope

to maintain one tradition: the free fall,
like the red-tailed hawk, when

the two of you, at last, meet
at the center of the sky, latch

your talons, and fall.

 

 

Share

Leave a Reply