My cracker crumbles decorate 
the table between us.
“To feed our little guests,” I gesture to the ants
to guide you away from
the mess I am creating. 
Our laughter, full of watermelon
drips down our chins,
pools onto my dress. 
One day, after we are married,
I tell you how I rearranged
those watermelon slices
for half an hour before our picnic
to settle my nerves. All you remember
is the mess I made. How everything
was prepared by my hands.