The Watermelon Woman (1996)

by Hailey M. Young

I do not know you,

yet I feel you

dive into my veins

to find the deepest red.

We are the same,

like distant poppies

connected by

a wind-blown seed.

They consume me,

get high on my mortality.

Now they do the same

to you,

my brother in arms

you cry out, bleed out

covered only by a strip

of gauze.

I see the phantom limbs,

ghosts still living,

shell of a bomb,

shell of yourself.

Hold fast.

Weather the storm.

Collect the rain

in your palms,

satisfy your thirst.

Do what you must.

Just don’t let them

take

your last breath.

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Hailey M. Young (she/her) is a writer from Princeton, New Jersey. She

graduated from Brown University in 2023 with an undergraduate degree in

Literary Arts and Africana Studies with honors in Creative Writing. She traditionally writes poetry and fiction, but she sometimes dabbles in playwriting as well. Her poems have previously been published in Sixfold Journal. In 2024, she has also been working as a Fulbright English Teaching Assistant in Botswana.