Of Pomegranate… – Stephanie Pressman

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In the center of Eden
Eve plants a seed.
It flourishes, a sculpted
tree; leather-husked fruit:
purple-red, ample, aromatic.

Knowing,

it is the key to open worlds. If
she tempts him to eat,
will he? The musky scent,
the scarlet juice moistening her lips,
her brow rimmed with its tint, her cheeks
blushed with it. Its sweetness
on her breasts and between her thighs.

She knows

his surrender, and when her sons
grow to men, they fight their way.
When her daughters grow to women,
she sends them into the wilderness
with clusters of arils, bids them seed
their own gardens. Generations multiplying.
Multiplying…

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