Rotten

My grief is like a pomegranate

I loved it once

But I left it in my fridge too long

And it’s close to rot

Why can’t one throw some things away

No matter how rotten?

No matter how poisonous?

I want the sun to shrink my grief

Dry out its ugly dripping tears

I want the façade to peel back

Like the skin over a skull

The little seeds are chunks

Of the moments I forget to forget

Scattered around

Each with a glaring white kernel

Like the teeth of truth

Bared at me

I want the wind to blow them away

Strew them in other’s lawns

Maybe there, the grief can be love again

And we can start over.