And there were ninety and six pomegranates on the sides; all the pomegranates
     were a hundred upon the network, round about.  (Jeremiah 52:23)

It came from the lowest
branch, arils steeped

in pulp and wine.
She split

the plucked heart—
weeping thread of scarlet

swaying at her throat—
the needle, piercing

for a necklace.

What she could not prick
she bled

in glass bowls.
What remained, she carved

with her fingernail.

She wore it till the skin turned
black, ripping it away.

Then replanted it.


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