Jack O’Lantern

Start the process after the swelling heat dries, uncover me from the bed of shriveled leaves flailing in the rising wind, dig me out of the grassy field where I’ve hidden my budding body; Twist, pull my green umbilical cord until it snaps and I tumble out, bring me to the brick building with plaster peeling from the ceilings, set me on a desk; Trap me under your hands, take a cleaver straight to my skull, thrust through my skin, grind the blade slowly in a measured angle to cut out a hole in my head, so you can fix my insides; Yank out my cap, hear the crackling of my ripping veins, reach in with a cutting-edge metal spoon to scrape out the rest of the tangle of silky threads ensnared with hard, promising seeds, scoop out my sweet flesh, and stash it in a bowl so you can tip it into the bin; Remove from me everything that made me a pumpkin, remove me so I become a vessel to carry your countless purposes; Split into my front with a smaller knife for details, gouge out blank eyes and a hollow grin, etch crooked scars that mar my face to your liking; Carry me out to the patio one crisp night, where I will stare down the street at rows of pumpkins just like me, where I will witness their weighted gaze, and the weighted gaze of the thousands that have come before, and the thousands that will come after; Before you return into your cushioned home, light a candle and place it in my empty chest, so the warmth replaces what you have taken and I am full, briefly, thinking this is how things should be, before the wax melts and burns into my insides, before it shrinks into a congealed pool and the wick shivers once then extinguishes; Watch from your festive window as the rats race to devour me before the rot.