Southern Pacific Review Editorial Services

Sunday, June 18, 2017

Watermelon

by
Margaret Woodman-Russell 

<strong>You taste like the first summer I ever drank ice coffee</strong>
<strong> and drove with my brand-new license, windows open, always.</strong>

<strong>I don’t have to wonder what you’re thinking,</strong>
<strong> I don’t have to wonder at all.</strong>

<strong>Adults speed over the little things</strong>
<strong> like kissing.</strong>

<strong>You slip your hand to the skin of my back.</strong>
<strong> I press my fingers against the taut muscle of your chest</strong>
<strong> and inhale.</strong>

<strong>I am thick in my familiar haze of codes and hints,</strong>
<strong> calculations and boasting,</strong>

<strong>when suddenly I see you clear and blue</strong>
<strong> like a child coming out of the pond:</strong>
<strong> kindness.</strong>

<strong>Your smile is uncensored and unembellished,</strong>
<strong> plain and even pure:</strong>
<strong> You have made me sixteen again.</strong>

<strong>There’s no time for more,</strong>
<strong> not today and not tomorrow,</strong>
<strong> so I’ll just remember you like watermelon,</strong>
<strong> like sugar and water,</strong>
<strong> innocent and unadorned.</strong>

No comments:

Post a Comment

Note: Only a member of this blog may post a comment.