"seed cities"

I’ve been hungry since January

“They’re out of season.”

I’m bereaved

Waiting patiently, my plea becomes dated and

fizzles among new priorities—in season

Days darken. Rivers fill. It seems I don’t

walk but rather am carried; feel work

not progress time slips under my feet

There, see two pomegranates waiting for me

at the end of the kitchen on the counter by the window

They aren’t large, but

nevertheless shine right into my eyes

Two stop signs. Two shining jewels. Two

reminders that my life is observed

by more than my God & guardian angel. . .

In my hands feel like I was born into the world

clutching them high above

my head; pealing

seed city bells—in season