Pomegranate.
The open wound was cut
deep & cloud-drinking with pain;
it’s storm-bleeding and sleet-dancing,
gaping — full of thirst — to shrouds;
to fevered fermentation of the ash;
digging graves for winter months,
in hibernation.
That last morning,
her eyes were daggers
and her tongue’s a chainsaw
slipping icicles of silent doubt;
drops of crimson debts — unpaid.
But deep inside my pocket rests
sweetest seed for vines to bring
the bounty of her heart again;
in another spring.
Margaret challenge us at toads with details from a painting by Severin Roesen. I could not help but think of an open wound when I saw the pomegranate. November is extremely dark here, and so far we have had 1.5 hrs of sunshine. I wonder where we will end.
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November 21, 2014
Björn Rudbergs writings 
I believe Persephone is dancing to your song!
This is so vivid and intense! Wow!
The wound is deep, painful like winter but the shape and seeds hold promise.
This is an excellent evocation of the pomegranate and ode to the seasons’ turn all in one. I had to smile at the choice of fruit, since I have a few ripening on a little tree outside my kitchen door.
A clever metaphor. So sorry about the dark. K.
Great ending Bjorn! It brings the finality to the idea of another year of bountiful offerings with seeds stored.
Hank
The promise of rebirth and renewal – the eternal panacea that, it seems, never fails to offer some small comfort to we mortals, through the darkest days. An iconic theme, well captured.
“But deep inside my pocket rests
sweetest seed for vines to bring
the bounty of her heart again;”
such an awesome metaphor for what is inside this fruit – yes, I can see how the leathery skin holds the promise of starting over. Nicely done!
Bjorn, A bit dark but with hope of renewal. Hope you get more sunshine there soon. 🙂 — Suzanne
Winter certainly cuts…love those seeds of hope
love this, Bjorn. i wrote something that i think might be too obscure a metaphor for anyone but myself to get, in response to this same detail from the painting. there’s something about it that goes very dark for me, too. icicles of silent doubt? ouch, ouch.
A brilliant wordsmith.. It’s always a pleasure to read your work.