somedays it’s all too strange
    or gnarly or difficult to explain,
    or nothing of significance seems
    to have occurred, or both,
    like today, for instance.
    i couldn’t possibly tell you
    what happened this morning,
    and then what filled the rest
    of the day with its overriding
    theme of absurdity, humor
    and embarrassment and i
    surely couldn’t share a tidbit
    of a conversation that touched
    on what we both most deeply
    fear. no, i’d rather speak of
    pomegranates, especially
    the one my best friend
    brought last week
    that’s been waiting
    in the kitchen basket
    for the day soon when
    i feel back to my usual
    self enough to crack it
    wide open, take it apart,
    stain my fingers with
    its juice, the red teardrops
    glowing in the slant of sun
    that streams in through
    the skylight.