when I look at a pomegranate seed, I feel connections
dark blood, softness, cherry red stains with a hint of purple
when I eat a pomegranate seed, I have sensation
soft flesh, the slow release of that dark taste, the resistance of the seed, the slight acidic sensation on the back of my throat, the crunch of the seed as I split it once and again
when I am done, I think on the pomegranate seed
a stolen fruit from far away, a symbol from aculture not my own,
not native, it doesn’t belong here
on my table
in my mouth
on my tongue.
The flavor of another culture, I can taste in it the different language, the symbolism out of place,
my stained fingers a mockery of its onetime owners.
Foreign fruit is cultural appropriation at its finest.