In the chambers of the pomegranate
sweet possibilities
stick together
like honeycombs,
thin parchment skin
divisive.
It stains like wine
but ruptures in the mouth,
a hard-edged sweetness.
The thousand damning things
never knowing soil
or the uncountable division of cells
as limbs stretch into air
and the thousand thousand others
emerge like rain
to feed
and feed on.
by Christina Shideler
Christina Shideler is a current MFA student in poetry at The New School. She was born and raised in Texas, and no, she does not have an accent. She worked in publishing for a few years before pursuing her life-long dream of being a writer. She is a vintage clothing fanatic, low-level connoisseur of scotch and sparkling wine, and a deep lover of science, though poetry has always had her heart.
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