"Had the Vines Budded, Were the Pomegranates in Bloom"

16 August 2019: This poem, by S. Brook Corfman, from the Poem-a-Day email list, fascinates me. I am pretty sure I don't understand it very well (yet?), but its imagery and moves are captivating. I especially love those first few lines, the surprising yet perfect turn they take us on: "My old lover was Catholic and lied to me about the smallest things. Now he’s dying and I’m trying to forgive everyone standing in line ahead of me at the grocery store." So much going on here about interiority and autonomy versus openness and vulnerability...