Girl

makes me cross my legs,

hands clasp in this neat lace lap.

Pray

I lose myself

to whichever braver diety

begs me forward,

beckons me to scoop

all of my too ripe fruit

into a dainty pile of rind

just before

a hot summer solstice.

Woman

is that blue ribbon winning

melon

fertilized

plowed

harvested

when in season.