The pomegranate tree

It was a small bit of freedom
Stolen under the dark desert sky
It was counted out
Not by minutes or hours
But kernel by kernel
Of delicious forbidden fruit
Eaten slowly
Like a lover
Savoring every sweet drop
Nothing else existed
For the moment
But the wide open night
And sweet rough skinned fruit
Torn open bit by bit
Slowly anticipating every ruby orb
That would burst it’s sweet juice
In wet pleasure
The nights were hot and dry
The smell of dust
Still hanging like a veil
And it was it all was about the dust
That freedom giving dust
Not from the dry desert
But the dust left on the window sill
Tended in soft careful piles
Next to the bars
To be carefully packed back into place
So they could lie
Lie about the night
Lie about the fruit
And the forbidden trysts
Under the outstretched arms
Of the small twisted tree
But the rough red peels
Left carelessly strewn about
By small unwitting fingers
Eventually told the truth
That the bars wouldn’t
And they started counting the fruits
Every day and every morning
The bounty now left untouched
But the night was still there
With stars close enough to hold in your hand
The hot desert breeze gently breathing
And every moment

Yeah, I was a bad kid. I was locked up when I was 9. What really amazed me was I was the only one who broke out of the place. I would be out there every night, totally alone and free.I not only had the bars on the window rigged so I could remove them, but had also gotten into the attic and by-passed the alarm on the door. I was like a vampire roaming the place at night sucking cans of peaches dry and robbing the cream out of the milk jug.

One response to “The pomegranate tree

  1. Even at 9 the soul of a poet.
    Hey, update us when you can/have something on employee. There are folks out here rooting for him.

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