To my neighbors who never pick their pomegranates | Erin Mizrahi 

4 mins read

You always leave them on the trees to rot & it so pains me to see this every fall those gorgeous
pinkish red orbs like pinkish red planets become hollowed a reminder that time passes too quickly
don’t you think don’t they say something about how the days are long but the years are short & I
don’t really know what to think except that I should have been saving those pomegranates or
somebody should somebody not me I’ve got more pressing things to do & there’s always more
pressing things to do I need to sign my baby up for pre-school there’s one right down my street in
the old Petco okay maybe not that one I need more time & there isn’t time & it’s Tuesday & the Jews
are out walking which means it’s a holiday & it’s always a holiday & I’m a terrible Jew because I can’t
tell you which holiday & who feels much like celebrating have you heard there’s some fucked up
stuff happening at the Salton Sea & also everywhere & the moon’s wobbling or lost its wobble &
experts say we might be going the way of Venus & it’s hard to keep up with every piece of earth we
are mourning these days I like that song “These Days” by the Velvet Underground mostly because I
like Nico’s voice she sounds like autumn singing like leaves falling like winter knocking slowly at the
door who’s at the door probably Amazon probably my downstairs neighbor again to tell me she can
hear my boy playing & she would rather not have to hear my boy playing & I would rather not have
to live in a building with someone who hates the sound of a child playing does nobody remember
we are all still surviving does nobody remember we were preaching kindness & self-care & we
would greet one another on zoom & gently ask how we were doing & share new recipes & nobody
is remembering nobody I walk in circles in my neighborhood shaking my head excuse me while
I correct my posture not like it matters excuse me while I regret everything.


Erin Mizrahi (she/they) is a poet, educator, collaborator and co-founder of Cobra Milk. Erin is a recipient of fellowships from Asylum Arts and the Institute for Jewish Creativity and has been nominated for the Pushcart Prize and Best of the Net. Their writing has appeared or is forthcoming in Bending GenresGasher JournalHooligan Mag, and elsewhere. Erin is coauthor with Jason Lipeles of the micro-chapbook, “if we break, where we break, how we break” (Ghost City Press 2023).