Boys in flannel line up to see who can throw
them the farthest, sending them spinning through
the air like suns too drunk from summer’s end.
Some the size of a giant tortoiseshell mold into
the most wicked faces. Chinese believe this fruit
is the most lucky of all—so fertile and thumpy
with a satisfying knock on its belly to plim
pregnant women nicely round. Every year I beg
my mother to plant a pumpkin so we can harvest
it together. A giant birthday cake for the woman
who was born the day before Halloween, who I
once thought was a witch herself when she cut
my curfew in half with a wave of her thin hands.
Seed & gutrot // Stem & root. The salty crunch
of toasted seeds—the only protection my mouth
has against witches. No more pie or bread stolen.