Lord, if you’re up there, bless
the floral-print chiffon shirt
gathered in a sultry, tuggable knot
just below her breasts. Bless
the left one’s half-moon inner curve
jutting out between the folds
and bless her bare shoulder where
thin cloth slipped off and let light kiss
the shelf of her collarbone.
Bless the smashed watermelon
wetting the ground between her
and the camera, one chunk blurred
in the foreground and a twinned split
half nestled between her inner thighs—
her left hand inviting a finger-
sized piece toward her parted lips—
Bless me, O holy whoever, for I’d give
anything to be that battered melon
in all its shattered softness,
red and pulpy and giving to wherever,
whatever she wants, if she’d have me:
I’d be the piece, pinched and lifted
toward her mouth, I’d be the half-eaten
wedge next to the arch of her foot,
I’d be the pink juice puddling
the floor beneath her smooth, perfect knee—
whoever you are, if you’re out there,
make me the hole her thumb carves
in the fruit’s fibrous flesh, make me
that sacrosanct space, let me wet,
let me woman, let me be
broken open and devoured.
Maria Isabelle Carlos is a poet from Columbia, MO. She was awarded the Thomas Wolfe Scholarship from the University of North Carolina, where she received her BA in English. Her work has appeared or is forthcoming in Pleiades, Sycamore Review, Cave Wall, Four Way Review, The Collagist, and elsewhere. She is a MFA candidate in poetry at Vanderbilt University and editor-in-chief of Nashville Review.