Say ‘pomegranate’ in French

the anger is there, it’s always there

like a glint on the slide of a knife blade

thinner than a fire pin running through a grenade

(have you ever noticed, by the way, a grenade shape?

curved in like a fig leaf, wired with veins of a maze)

you know, you could hold them both in your palm

I once asked someone, “can you imagine? Holding a heart?”

he said without blinking, “as long as it’s still beating.”

What if a heart had seeds? could bear fruit,

die and be reborn in its own acorn and own accord?

the fruit of the seed is the fruit

the fruit of the grenade is the blood

the fruit of the heart is the same