Poem: Pomegranate Heart

instructions for how to open a pomegranate:

1. start with ripe pomegranates. the best ones are from farmer's markets, kindergarten schoolyards, or pretty little churches with stained glass windows. you remember being young and impressionable, don’t you? then you’ll know that it’s easiest to work with fruit that is fresh off the tree. look for ones with smooth, unbroken skin.
2. roll the pomegranate on the cutting board to loosen the seeds. applying pressure will make it more malleable, easier to coax open. sometimes, it’s a bit like charming a snake. other times, it’s more like prying open the jaw of a child who’s done something they shouldn’t have. it really just depends on the weather.
3. cut the top and bottom off the fruit. if part of the crown, or the calyx, is still lodged into the fruit, pull it out. every time you’ve had to yank out a baby tooth while just barely holding back tears was practice for this. don’t worry about being gentle: it’s more important to be efficient. but do be careful, because the blood will stain your hands. wear an apron as well as gloves if necessary.
4. make five shallow cuts lengthwise around the pomegranate. only pierce the skin. resist the urge to sink the knife all the way into the fruit (this isn’t about you). it claws at your throat like a sickness, like some awful, insatiable creature (it still isn’t about you). make sure not to accidentally cut the seeds, since you’ll want to keep those whole and untouched.
5. dig your thumbs into the cuts and tear into the fruit, ripping it into separate segments. peel back the skin and viscera from its bones. nestled inside is every meaningful moment you've ever treasured, glistening a lurid dark crimson. isn’t it pretty? isn’t it alive? like it might heave in a breath and start beating in your hand? it’s never going to be good enough. you’re never going to be—
6. submerge the pomegranate in a bowl of water and use your fingers to pull apart the pith. the seeds will sink, while the worthless bits and pieces of flesh float to the top. you can skim those out of the water. this helps separate the seeds from everything else and creates a pure, untainted final product. you’re almost done. just smile for the camera.
7. strain the seeds into a bowl. when you’re finished, you’ll be left with the skeleton of the pomegranate—two inverted ribcages that once cradled some cheap mimicry of a vital organ. discard it. there’s no use for empty vessels. you have your bowl of pomegranate seeds now, and that is good enough.
8. wash your hands clean of any lingering stains. if you scrub at your skin a little too hard to get it all off, no one will know. instead, admire the fruits of your labor: the seeds gleaming in the light, bright and ruby-red, like something from a movie scene. tell me it’s perfect. it’s perfect. it’s perfect. it’s perfect.

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