I wash your ridged, orange skin
      with the tenderness of an old lover
      examining each line, mole and scar

At first glance I admired
      your roundness
      p l u m p n e s s
      perfect pumpkiny form
      squatting in your glory on my counter

There was a Halloween when I would have tried to
      scratch off your scars
      cut them out
      demolish them

Now, at 32, I watch my lines set in
I feel my body moan and ache
I trace my finger along my lifeline
      Feeling heartaches, confusions and tragedies
I can look back gently on them now
Seeing how they pointed me towards
      Healing and joy

Your scars are my scars
I can forgive them now
      kiss them, caress them

And so, my sweet friend,
      Tenderly I bathe your weather-worn body
And see a laughing, wizened face
      start to appear for my tools to trace

Bless the hands that chose you
      And brought you here
            Chron’O’Lantern
                              Queen of the Pumpkin Patch!

Pamela Holm, Oct 30, 1992

Published in the Orleans Writing Group: 10th Anniversary Collection, 2008-2018