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.