Watermelon Tourmaline

I hold the hummingbird with both hands and in that expanse 
it seems to me a ripple in the water — a reflection fractured 
like watermelon tourmaline with a sledgehammer. there’s 
no good reason now for dinner. I do not want to eat with hands that 
felt a heart’s last flutter — that smoothed the soil gently.


McCaela Prentice (she/her) is living in Astoria, New York. She is (unsuccessfully) growing an herb garden. Her poems have previously appeared in Hobart, Ghost City Review, and Perhappened. Her debut chapbook “Junk Drawer Heart” was published in 2020 by Invisible Hand Press.