The woman carries the cantaloupe in her palm,
Protruding like a proud pregnancy.
Her fingers turn up, become a bowl;
Each foot dances to ripeness.
Was the cantaloupe singing
As she made her way to home and mate?
Would she dare to eat
The golden flesh when she woke
With cravings in the night?
[Poem by Virginia McKinnon Mann. Dated "July, August, September 1997". Photo by Kabsik Park.]
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