Sonnet #58

The greatest mystery of pomegranates

When is the fruit come ripe for picking?
For months they hang like planets
Red and crowned and thickening, thickening
Blooms remembered, they were fairy dresses
Red for the queen, yellow for the sun
After the party, the ripeness of caresses
The swelling weight pulls branches down
Is she done? Is she ever going to be done?
Can I be so bold as to pluck a sweet fruit?
Wait until autumn, she says, my fruit will come
When my leaves give up their last refute
I know, once cracked, she’s kin to fairy toads
The way the eggs all bunch, and burst at goad
Advertisements

Leave a comment

Filed under Uncategorized

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s