4 Poems (III. The Orange Peel)

Written on February 28, 2019

I sit alone at the kitchen table
And watch as the lonely waves crash
outside my window

I peel the sweet pulpy fruit
listening to the crisp squish of its flesh
as it peels back against the sour bitter
flesh
i admire the curled strips of fruity flesh
hanging off the succulent sphere
in my sticky hands collects the sweet and sour juice

i take my fingers
and grasp onto a crescent moon
and peel the moon gently from its friends
goodbye, it says, my loves it was nice knowing you
i detach the lonely moon as it gives one last longing kiss
to the other crescent moons that nestle alongside it
that try to latch themselves to it
like a magnet on a refrigerator

i embrace the pulpy mass with my fingers
honey running down my hand
the orange makes its slow descent
into the abyss of my stomach
i chew that flesh with the relish
of a food aficionado
sparks fly on the surface of my ridged tongue
sweet, salty, bitter, all of my lost memories
of picking oranges in the summer Texas sun
with my ex.
they no longer pick oranges with me
but they pick oranges with me in spirit
they enjoy the scrumptious sumptuous moment 
of dining on this exquisite fruit with me.

The peels sit on the table
untouched.
I let them have a moment of deep contemplative silence and dry out for a few days
in the sun so that i could make essential oils out of them
they sit, feeling used, torn apart by the violence
of my delicate yet impatient hands.
mangled by the hunger and passion of my taste in fruits
i tip-toe my fingers
to the middle of the table
and caress those delicate remains
of a round ripe healthy body
with a sticker certifying its livelihood
imported from Nicaragua. 

Author: The Arts Are Life

I am a writer and musician. Lover of music, movies, books, art, and nature. View all posts by The Arts Are Life