Under the Pomegranate Tree

I trotted up a bowl-shaped hill
There was an abandoned cemetery atop
with rows of unmarked headstones
Tangles of brushwood clogged the aisles
Seasons of rain and snow had turned the iron gate rusty
with low white stone walls in decay

My cousin and I sat cross-legged
Sunlight and shadows of pomegranate leaves danced on his face
He absently plucked blades of grass from the ground
We sat for hours under the pomegranate tree
sat there until the sun folded in the west
He flashed a smile and winked at me

Outside the sky dimmed
Something roared like thunder
The earth shook a little
We heard the rat-a-tat of gunfire

from the soldiers at war
It lit the sky in silver
Flashed again and was followed by a rapid staccato of gunfire
while we huddled together under the pomegranate tree.

Gigi George