Flat blonde seeds big
as my thumbnail and shaped
like pointed footballs, we planted five
to a hill in our creekside garden.
You wouldn't believe the tangled
vines running every which way. Butter-
yellow blossoms slowly swelled to green
balloons. By fall they'd turned orange,
grown huge: lots I couldn't carry.
I helped Dad carve jagged-tooth faces;
we lit candle stubs, left them wavering,
set two on our front porch.
They looked neat from the road -