summer prayer

as i slice the heirloom
it spills seeds
and watery, blush red juice -
shocking the off-white counter
with its sudden presence
(as if to say 'hello there, you need some color in those cheeks.")

all the while the cicadas sound
and sound and sound
over there and right here
and everywhere outside the window that's open
to let the last
bit
of
late summer air
into the kitchen

and deep in this moment of
fresh preparation
and dicing and smelling
and quartering an onion
and chopping cilantro
chop
chop
chop -
i breathe in this life around me -
this presence of something bigger than just
my knife and juice-stained hands.
and i pause
(as if to say, "thank you for the color in my cheeks.")

amen.