Driving home to touch my sister’s stomach.
There’s an irresistible firmness of life inside.
Strangers poke at her in grocery store lines.
Inquisitive expressions adorn their faces:
due dates, gender, nursery themes - like asking
for ingredients to secret family recipes.

Ghosts from last night’s date skim across
thruway pavement.  I chose cantaloupe
for dessert, carefully pressing my fingers
against the spongy and bumpy skin,
hoping to select the best one,
trying to predict what’s underneath.

We sipped wine just as the knife slipped,
sprinkling bright red onto the pattern
of my favorite dish towel – pink and blue
Martini glasses with stuffed olives.
In that innocent moment, we kissed, sweet
melon on our lips; blood on our hands.

© Carrie Spadter, 2000. All rights reserved.