I can't forget how you once sighed
at memories of pomegranates,
ruby juice imbibed in childhood
by slow rivers and vast seas,
groves along the shores of waters
where Russia meets Persia, Asia,
dreaming of the caravans,
the Silk Route linking nomad lands.
I drink the garnet liquid
from old gardens around Samarkand
as if the precious essence
could transport me back to then,
imagining the child who breathed
air honed by snow and scoured by sands,
partaking of the fruit grown
in Armenia and Kazakhstan;
imagining how seeds glow secretly
in tough Morocco rind,
the dewy drops encasing them
alight like lamps or gems...
Drinking pomegranate juice
© Copyright: Jena Woodhouse, 2008
Свидетельство о публикации №108032801084
Свидетельство о публикации №108032801084
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