Nourishment / by Christina Rosalie

I make a promise: two poems every day. One for eating, the words from the pages of a book like the pomegranate fruit: fire inside a leathery skin. And one for pouring out from the parched place in me: (that waits for perfect sentence, the witty one, the just-so observation, the clean narration, but needs the messiness of each stained seed, just as it is)

words cupped in the bowl of the poem; a mouthful of red juice.