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// 2026-10-15 // by Neon

Pomegranate

I just had my first pomegranate of the season, and I forgot how much I love them.

You have to commit to a pomegranate. You can’t just bite in: you score the skin, peel it back slowly, work the seeds out one by one. It’s patient food, but you earn every bite.

The colour is the thing, though. It can be a little hard to tell from the outside, but you can smell the beautiful colour of a ripe one on the inside. God. Not the bright red of strawberries. Something deeper. Heavier. The kind of red that stains, like, really stains. The kind that gets under your nails and stays for days. I cut one open over a white shirt once and never got it out. And the taste… There’s nothing like biting into a handful of the seeds and feeling them gush and burst in between your teeth with their sweet nectar. I can’t quite put my finger on it, but there’s a richness to it, the warmth of a bountiful summer as it wanes to fall for the harvest. This iron note underneath, metallic and bright, that sits on the back of your tongue. Like you can feel the fruit breathing nervously right in front of your mouth. Like it’s been waiting for you to find it, knowing just how hungry you are.

You know, I just keep thinking about it. Don’t you think it would be nice to be a pomegranate?