Watermelon at the church picnic

The domed green cathedral
shines, flanked by homemade
cakes and fried chicken,
its shell impenetrable as faith.
I eye the huge fruit with awe,
the marks of connection with earth,
with nurturing water and air,
wondering what outward signs
show the ripeness inside.
They say knock and all
will be revealed. I hear
the sound of the knife
piercing the outer shell,
the crack of the green veil
releasing the ruby scent,
mouthwatering. Plates are passed;
all partake, share the mysteries.
Some spit the seeds on the soil,
others swallow them whole.
I stare at the tiny miracle,
a future fruit inside a fragile husk,
a door without a key.

~~~
Inspired by dVerse, GoDogGoCafe, and a trip to the grocery store on Memorial weekend.

11 comments

  1. I love the way you set the scene in the opening lines, with the ‘domed green cathedral’ at the centre of the picnic, and then focused on the metaphor, Denise, the steadfastness of faith, and the ‘connection with earth, with nurturing water and air’. The cutting of the watermelon appeals to all the senses, and I these lines make the ending special:
    ‘I stare at the tiny miracle,
    a future fruit inside a fragile husk,
    a door without a key.’

    Liked by 1 person

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