I sit on the brick steps of my grandmother’s porch

Still damp from the rain that fell the night before

A bowl of black watermelon seeds to the left

And my grandmother behind me

I glance back to see her already looking at me

Slice of watermelon in front of her mouth

Mimicking her signature wide grin

Her smile reaches her eyes

The ons that are so green they match the melon’s rind

And I laugh after she takes a bite

Rocking back and forth in her age-old chair

A crack of thunder sounds

And I’m aware of the moisture seeping through my shorts

But I don’t care

I could hear a million thundering roars

I’d still come back tomorrow

And every summer’s day after that