Dream, memory, and the written word — in my experience, these overlap to such a degree that it would be useless to ask which has the most powerful influence on the others. Imagine three very old, sympathetic sisters. Finally, one of them dies. The surviving two follow her to the cemetery, and the conversation between the three of them continues there. . Lemon Sun, Pomegranate Blood The little unpainted house […]
Once inside and away from the chilly weather, the jade plants in their big clay pots turned quickly to face the tall south window. The glass is cool this time of year, as the fairy tale sunlight calls to them through the open wooden blinds. The smaller of the two pots holds three plants made from cuttings several years ago, taken from my mother’s twenty-year-old plant, the trunk of which […]
To the blue, I leave you, and to the oranges and reds.
For you know where the peaches fell,
And where the plums, and the pomegranates, bled.
Canvas 1,240 — August 20, 2019
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Would I rather be peeled like an onion, opened like a pomegranate, or eaten like a fig? The answer changes from day to day. And yet if you were to ask me now, this moment, I would say all three. Or I might be a walnut, whose heart is exposed with the breaking of day. My grandfather had a pecan tree. The jays would pick up the nuts, and then […]
Poor little thing. A few days ago, I moved our struggling crape myrtle away from the cedar to a new place at the base of an old camellia stump. After I’d watered it in, I decided it was a pomegranate tree. I’ve been calling it a pomegranate ever since. It seems quite pleased. There will be no fruit this year, of course, but I fully expect it to bloom next […]
William Michaelian 