Watermelon Seeds

By: Meghna Denish

“i must wear socks in this dreary weather”

is what i imagine miss marple would say,

when chilblains gnaw at my heels,

-keen hounds for a master so tardy.

i, like every other creature in the midst of winter, seek warmth i am denied

but my house is colder than the outside, sharp gusts battering my defenses.

there are stones growing into boulders in the space intended for affection to crawl,

my parents weighed down by words left unsaid,

like watermelon seeds never meant to be swallowed,

lest they sprout and devour you.

i wanted to be held

to be felt

and hugged and kissed, like the other kids i went to kindergarten with,

i never asked, too embarrassed to, i daresay

what was it i wanted?

proof of love? that i was cared for?

but the bills and toys were evidence enough, or so i assumed.

so i bent towards myself, soothing that recurrent itch,

until it disappeared and i grew familiar in my brittle arms.

i cannot claim to be unloved,

yet i’m left wanting.