summer squash

i want to arrive yellow
with a duckling neck.
for the sun to feast me
while she sits on her hunches.
my seeds the used-up beads
of a great & marvelous face. 
nothing has taught me more
about abundance than summer squash.
the soil says, "there will be more."
you got sick of them last year.
i did not. i cut onions into eyelids.
fried them translucent as windows
& filled the pan with squash.
flecks of salt. i ate them standing.
carved them into boats. licked my fingers. 
when a downpour made a little river
in our yard, i climbed aboard.
flowed down the mountain
to where the frogs tell love stories.
their throats like little pocket watches.
we killed the afternoon together.
wiped its guts from between
our fingers. ate the boat. put squash flowers
on our heads & danced until you started
calling my cell phone. back at home,
you were worried about what we would do
when the summer was over. i did not
want to think about the future.
this is how i grew up. no promise of
a violet tomorrow. no sunset paintings.
hands in the dirt. eating what was ripe.
the squash are coming back. i want to 
come to the world like them. belly full
of sequins. a dress in the back of my throat.
i am already more than i need.