Segmenting an Orange
Push your thumb inside.
smell tin and vinegar,
balmy Bombay days
(don’t look directly
at the Maharaja),
cinnamon and salt.
Peel back the zest,
pluck away the pith,
finger cratered grooves,
pry apart that dripping flesh:
it comes apart so easily.
Trickling;
sticky; tongue-stripped,
gone—
O subtropical fruit, you’re not the only one!
Push your thumb inside.
smell tin and vinegar,
balmy Bombay days
(don’t look directly
at the Maharaja),
cinnamon and salt.
Peel back the zest,
pluck away the pith,
finger cratered grooves,
pry apart that dripping flesh:
it comes apart so easily.
Trickling;
sticky; tongue-stripped,
gone—
O subtropical fruit, you’re not the only one!
*
Do you love me now mommy? Sing a song of solomon to me. How clear is my complexion. And where is my Dudley, my diadem, my great consecration?
Bleak house is this. My face is scratched, a thin red line on my left cheek, a bloody line on my right eyelid. A thing of threads and patches is a girl who associates with the Clee. Said puppy is obsessed with me, and obsession is unhealthy.
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