“Seeds”

I ate of watermelon sweet.

I barely chewed its pulp as it—

It slid along my throat so slick,

Like water sliding off a rock,

Its smoothness trickled down my neck.

I sucked its juice and tasted life—

A slice of pale red paradise.

Inhaling breaths between large bites,

I choked upon a little seed—

A small black spot—reality.

Christina Knowles (2000)