Written by Anastasia Bortsvadze
Back home in Tbilisi,
Hunched over the dinner table,
My grandmother peeled pomegranates
As I peered into her eyes
She plucked out each seed
Helped it shed its surface
Gently placed it into a bowl
And rinsed, and rinsed
Here I rush
Rip out chunks
Spit out the seeds
And choke on bitterness
I think I understand
Why Bebo peeled gently now
I wish I understood
What love was, then
.
Anastasia Bortsvadze is a Georgian-American poet born in Tbilisi, Georgia. She immigrated to the United States as a child and writes poetry exploring the space between cultures, examining themes of displacement, family legacy, and the immigrant experience of translating oneself between worlds. Her poetry has been featured at Brooklyn Poets Society readings, and she writes in both English and Georgian. Over the last eighteen months, her work has evolved from personal expression into a cohesive exploration of cultural identity, inherited trauma, and the journey from displacement toward self-acceptance. She is currently working on her debut poetry collection, Suli (Georgian for “soul”), which maps the territory between homeland and new country, between suffering and self-compassion.