I like to feel you push me
down, hard, as if God were
the pavement I was waiting
to meet during those ten years of praying
in a Thai restaurant
two blocks from the river,
only to wake up gray-haired, facing south into the rain.
One wet handful of pumpkin seeds
can be a sign of who did what
and to whom, the way your mother
was revealed as mirage
while you were on the line
with the phone company
trying to convince them to cancel a fee,
and found only the
fill-in-the-blank
rotten cantaloupe
of longing, mouth
open, found that the fee you were trying
to cancel
holds the world in place.
Ancient Studies (Melons)
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