Watermelon by Lauren Scharhag

like the summer days themselves

we chomp its pink sweetness

down to thin rinds /

short pale nights

doused with salt to draw out

a bit more juice

half-believing wive’s tales

about seeds implanting themselves in our bellies 

making of our spines and throats a stake

hairy leaves unfurl on tongues

unquenched, we reach

for the next green orb

split us open. it’s taken root

in my duodenum

darkness calling to darkness

unable to distinguish

my depths

from the earth’s.

Lauren Scharhag is the author of fourteen books, including Requiem for a Robot Dog (Cajun Mutt Press) and Languages, First and Last (Cyberwit Press). Her work has appeared in over 100 literary venues around the world. Recent honors include the Seamus Burns Creative Writing Prize, two Best of the Net nominations, and acceptance into the 2021 Antarctic Poetry Exhibition. She lives in Kansas City, MO. To learn more about her work, visit: www.laurenscharhag.blogspot.com