Pomegranate

white-coral-bells

The Huntress’ narrow prow cuts through darkness,

The only sound a plashing single paddle.

Destination known, she’s grateful to see nothing

Below the river’s surface.

Prepared, yes, but she wants to go slowly,

Like seepage down a cell wall.

***

The boat jerks, grabbed from beneath

By those who would steer her elsewhere.

She keeps her course.

Hours pass.

***

At last the shore,

A pale line of sun that never rises here.

The Huntress scrapes on black pebbles.

A skeletal hand holds out a red, tufted fruit,

Torn open, revealing its dripping scarlet interior.

***

Her mouth reaches, accepts its finality.

© Liz Husebye Hartmann (2023)

13 thoughts on “Pomegranate

  1. Pingback: On a Ship Named the Huntress Collection « Carrot Ranch Literary Community

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