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August 25, 2008

Two melons on the kitchen counter are reading yesterday’s newspaper. One of them would like to turn the page but the other is a slow reader, mouthing inimitable and acerbic as if they were frozen spoonfuls. The smallest melon doesn’t want to get an ice cream headache. What she wants is the companionship of ginger ale. What the larger one wants is good lighting on a paid vacation. Who can blame each for this one dream? I once knew a girl who loved a melon. For two years her parents refused to claim her as theirs. This is not our daughter, our daughter is gone, they’d say, naming a country she was lost in. One time, Yemen; the next, Nepal. To them, the daughter was better suited to yogurt. They were sure the melon had spoiled her, but who’s to say? I’m told she eventually eloped, that the noticeable change in her — some called it a ripening — was a matter of time and temperature, a tender story, a happenstance of seed.

by Susan Meyers

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  1. Chezzy
    August 25, 2008 at 11:23 am

    Knock, knock.
    Who’s there?
    Cantaloupe who?
    Cantaloupe tonight…Pop’s got the ladder!

  2. August 25, 2008 at 1:17 pm

    Love this! Strangest synchronicity: I was making a collage today of maps and melons and young school girls, so this all makes perfect sense.

  3. August 25, 2008 at 4:26 pm

    Wild. Mindbending. Love the last line.

  4. August 25, 2008 at 10:34 pm

    Lovely poem!

  5. iain
    February 27, 2009 at 11:22 am

    This has really given me an appetite for melons.. but what to do? (ke garni – nepali) Big melons? or small melons? some prefer a large portion of melon while others prefer nice little pert melons. I like small ones. so i`ll probably have some small ones. I used to be a melon salesman… we sold two types of melons… thin ones,. and fat ones? but the slender ones were of a kind of distorted veluptous nature.. deceptively curvey. Which in its self has a kind of nice ovaltine ring to it, if you know what i mean. but above all else, at the end of the day, when alls said and done, and the fat lady has begun to bark her sombre tune, remember… you are not the only one for whom the excrement has collided with the revolving oscilator.. good night

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