At the head of the year
We are seeds in the pomegranate
Conceived from the ovary of a flower
That blossoms before the harvest
We are kernels of possibility
Vessels of tart-sweet juice
Wrapped in fleshy casing
Red as the cheeks of a bride
We are many and we are mighty
Connected by pith and grit
Put to sacred use
As paint, nutrient or garnish
We are each a commandment
Renewed in autumn
Marking the miracle
Of the anniversary of the world
We are strong and we are fragile
Inside a thick skin
Capped by a crown, our navel
Linking us to the majesty of creation.
