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.