Summer Squash, by Gina Barnard

how generous you are, to let me cut into you—
a softball with a green stem.

A mellow row
of millions of dots—

yellow—maps of seeds.
Seeds are green,

I slice, I see the insides of your seeds, thirty-six, I count.

Squash is a yellow bird, warm.
How generous you are to let me see inside you—
seeds are like little place-holders.

Most days I see Chicago if I look left—

 


Gina Barnard’s poems and essays have been published in Columbia Poetry Review, VERSE online, Laurel Review, New Madrid, Web del Sol Review of Books, Kartika Review, Asia Literary Review, Poetry International, in Japanese translation in Poemaholic Café (Tsukuba, Japan), and elsewhere. She is a co-founding and senior editor of The California Journal of Poetics and has been a contributing editor for Poetry International. She was born in Fussa, Tokyo and spent her early years between Japan and the Sacramento Valley, California. She teaches composition and creative writing and lives in San Diego, California.

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