the weatherman says summer / and my mother says pomegranate / together, we crack open the large fruit like a forbidden geode / glistening magenta gems reflecting / across our wide smiles / dyeing us pink / my mother picks the beads / one by one into a yellow bowl / by the table / quiet light streaming in from the open window / into her eyes / she squints, pausing only to wipe the sheen from her black brow / a prayer at work / the pomegranate is an empty mouth / and we’ve happily taken all the teeth / she hands me the bowl silently now / and the weatherman says sunny / as I take it from her.

Sophia Zuo is a poet living in Taiwan, previously located in New York. Her poetry is published or forthcoming in Berkeley Poetry Review, Capsule Stories, and Taiwanese American. In her free time, she likes abusing her Spotify subscription and crying over baby capybaras.