Watermelon
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When a perfect melon splits, we embrace our true selves, savage and sweet. We already know the bright beauty within — it’ll burst free and run between our fingers and along our chins. We’ll gorge on delight until we ache.
But in those few minutes before we reach for the knife, we can linger on the green curve, and we can enjoy that satisfying weight in our hands. We can — we must — explore the hollow thunk of our fingertips on the surface.
Think, too, of the gentle light on that twisted stem. It might still be warm from the sun that caressed it minutes before. Run your fingers along the spiny twirls, and imagine yourself tethered to a hill of dusty earth. Even as you savor red nectar and move smooth seeds on your tongue, think, too, of that gentle summer sleep. Think of becoming.
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