Only Half

by Marissa Ahmadkhani
Pomegranates are native to Iran.
Much like my father—
who peeled them on our kitchen counter,
liquid                pooling, thinner than
the blood-
          red you’d expect.
Much like my blood—
half-steeped in that same soil
and somehow not               thick enough.
And I        run my fingers through
my coarse hair, half-curly,
and I think about those pomegranate trees.
How they
          dig those deep roots,
how I half-cling to those
thin branches.