80spoems/unseamed

UNSEAMED

A hollowed out watermelon
on a fence post,
the end of the day and
I feel like an unseamed
quilt.

Red thread.
Golden knot.
A silver triangle.

Where is it exactly that
we are going?
What will happen when
I grow old?
Is your history infectious,
a viral presence in our room.
Will I come down with
your ex-wife’s face,
your sister-in-law’s
house dresses,
your pioneer ancestors.

1989