In those days,

we ate watermelon like steak—
 

with tobiko and fish flakes

we sharpened our knives

with amber roe. I used

my tongue then—

I flicked

fat into the river

to watch it crescent—

and roll. With the grainbeads

of melon, we played.

Thought the marbles of water

could be so finicky—

and unlovely.