greased, giant, floating and lolling
in the pool – while grown, bare-chested
men grapple with its smooth green expanse
of mottled skin – trying to lift it up, heave
its slipperiness onto shoulders – traverse
the elusive fruit first across the wide wet water.
split open, seeds, sun, spitting contests,
picnics, bare feet, cool grass, juice running
down chins, hard black kernels against teeth:
biting, testing – what is it like to ingest a seed?
an origin? a being? and will a giant watermelon
really grow up and crack inside me?
a patch cubed: pink, diced, de-seeded;
properly prepared and presented in dissected
fruit salads, on tidy trays with toothpicks
to reduce the messiness, the recognition,
the raw essence of what grows
greedily from the open ground.
carrying this evidence, this beautiful
germination expanding within me: first,
a speck, a dot, a granule; then,
stretching steadily from poppy seed to
apple seed to raisin, blueberry, raspberry,
grape, cherry, kumquat, kiwi, plum,
tangerine, peach, avocado, tomato,
mango, apple, orange, papaya, grapefruit,
coconut, cantaloupe, honeydew –
time-pressing outward in every direction:
a miracle taking center stage –
the largest, roundest watermelon: firm, strong,
abundantly heavy under my belly,
under the touch of my amazed hands:
ready to emerge and roll on out into the glory of life.