I have been reading the July/August issue of Poetry and I keep coming back to one of Charles Simic's poem - The Melon. Here it is.
There was a melon fresh from the garden
So ripe the knife slurped
As it cut it into six slices.
The children were going back to school.
Their mother, passing our paper plates,
Would not like to see the leaves fall.
I remember a hornet, too, that flew in
Through the open window
Mad to taste the sweet fruit
While we ducked and screamed,
Covered our heads and faces,
And sat laughing after it was gone.
I love the last line in that first stanza - it is such a great turn when we realize that the mother will not live. But this moment, one of fear and happiness, is remembered. I also like the description of the cutting of the melon. Slurped is such a wonderful word.