Poem: Seed of the Pomegranate

Seed of the Pomegranate

by Narmina Osmanova


I grab on to the pomegranate as lifelessly as my mind sits -

Processing every image war torn shreds I've seen through

A lens of survival. Not too attached as I will collapse onto my

Mother's hands

And they are already too brittle to hold anything but tears.

The knife is sharp and I think of blood splattered on cathedrals as

I cut into half.

The pomegranate -

In its promise of fertility and life - to be reborn we have started over

Time and time again. In ruins of our own, and in ruins of others.

I smell an awakening that runs through our youth

In backroads and villages as the fire burns - we run with it

And trace our scriptures for keeps.

There will come a time when I will tell this story too, the way my grandmother

Told her daughter and the way my mother told me.

In broken languages and a family spread through maps

In lineage never forgotten.

I let my hands dig right in, grabbing the seeds with hope and

Fear. All entwined and I have a hard time taking a deep breath.

In headlines I see their bodies piled up like leftover rot - to the outside

We are.

They dig right in, right into our bodies - to

Carnage. And all there is

Our remains to scatter in revenge.

The burst of vigor as I bite in and drink

To this loneliness. The glossing over words and treaties that can never replace

A bountiful belonging to the sun and its sky. A flower bed of aromas that

Fuel my own desires, and I suddenly miss what I never really had.

Our hands deep in dough we offer to our ancestors the comfort of home,

Of roads we never walked on but recite in our memories.

There is no special profit to a land, but a belonging to its

Harmony. To be a part of its balance in dark and light. We grew with it.

They can put a name to anything, but

A life that it once had

Remains in its roots.


author

Narmina Osmanova is a 33 year old Armenian American residing in Seattle since 1996. Her family and community always inspire her to write and speak her truth even if it ruffles a few feathers, which it should. Her self care consists of good food, radical anti capitalist studies and chai.