THE BOAT by Lisa Cole

THE BOAT
M
The half-eaten pomegranate
is losing its color, turning brown on the plate.
This piece of fruit– of course–is only a metaphor
for the tired heart: the portal to a whole new underworld
full of ghosts dressed in rainbow colors.

I remember the crook of your arm,
an erotic place in which I longed to live forever.

Your skin is the water, I am the boat–
washed clean, finally.

m

Lisa Cole