on may 9 you bought a watermelon

Samiah Haque

your hands: steady and drenched in water
tenderly bathing its expectant curves--
fluid bulges-- your fingers soothe
all the dents the scrapes the hurts of a life
rolling down hills-carts-a peddler's hands
and so much sun

i am thinking you would be such a good mother

my hands: steady as i trace our names
on its smooth surface carving my love and calling out
to time to the power of the darkening green against the tip
of my heart and i know that there is no act
that could hold more worship than this

in the afternoon on a wooden table stained
with the shadows of our laughter--sweet red juice
shiny black pips--
are two rinds rocking in tandem
to some inside joke.