Friday, August 19, 2022

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




1 comment:

Drunk Haze by George Gad Economou

swilling down bourbon till the very end of memories,  stumbling my way out of the barroom engirdled by fancy dinner-goers in a bar not for d...