Cold Snap

Under this pomegranate tree

All summer, I’ve been tearing

My fingernails on loose

rocks and unexpected roots.

Digging down, making a path

Through the worms and

Sandy topsoil, down through

The loam, into the clay,

Excavating Gaia herself,

Bathing myself in the

Moonlit river, silver threads

Of veiled light limning

My shoulders wet with

the sweat of my labor,

my blood flowing crimson

fading russet and sparkling

into jasper in the darkly lit river.

I resist the temptation

of the fruit glowing

on the branches I could climb,

Pluck every ripe pomegranate,

Gather them in my skirt

and slide down the trunk,

dreaming of you.

You question my patience?

You think flowers

are my only work?

That I don’t suffer?

Have you seen

what these suitors

do to me?

Look at the blood.

My blood, between my legs,

on my hands.

Listen to their whispers,

the lies they spread,

and help me escape.

When my pit is deep enough,

I will seize the fruit

with my bloody fingers,

bring them down through this grave

into your bed, devour

the glowing jewels inside,

devour your eyes with mine,

feed you my tongue,

shroud you in me,

Cause an early frost.