Oranges
I’ll choose for myself next time
who I’ll reach out and take
as mine, in the way
I might stand at a fruit stall
having decided
to ignore the apples
the mangoes and the kiwis
but hold my hands above
a pile of oranges
as if to warm my skin
before a fire.
Not only have I chosen
oranges, but I’ll also choose
which orange — I’ll test
a few for firmness
scrape some rind off
with my fingernail
so that a citrus scent
will linger there all day.
I won’t be happy
with the first one I pick
but will try different ones
until I know you. How
will I know you?
You’ll feel warm
between my palms
and I’ll cup you like
a handful of holy water.
A vision will come to me
of your exotic land: the sun
you swelled under
the tree you grew from.
A drift of white blossoms
from the orange tree
will settle in my hair
and I’ll know.
This is how I will choose
you: by feeling you
smelling you, by slipping
you into my coat.
Maybe then I’ll climb
the hill, look down
on the town we live in
with sunlight on my face
and a miniature sun
burning a hole in my pocket.
Thirsty, I’ll suck the juice
from it. From you.
When I walk away
I’ll leave behind a trail
of lamp-bright rind.
Notes
Yesterday we covered From Blossoms where Li-Young Lee found sacred communion in the gift of sweet fruit; Róisín Kelly’s Oranges turns that same table toward intentional, fierce desire. It anchors August’s theme of Feast by showing that to choose what, and who we take into our lives is an act of sensory warmth, agency, and ritual. By leaving a trail of lamp-bright rind behind, the poem reminds us that true abundance is found when we select the sun for ourselves and let its sweetness linger. . #poetry #zine #oranges #feast #fruit