I went to market
on saturday
and the oranges
were fluorescent
ripe
hip level
navel
gazing
we smelled
each
other
and I
plucked
one
straight
to my
teeth
stood in line
oozing
sweet
paid
by
weight
less
what was digested
sucked the
remnants
on my
teeth
till
sunday
at
church
the minister
said
all
rise
and we
sang
a hymn
this poem is about my mother dying
after church
driving
home
there
was a deer
who met
my
gaze
as I drove
straight past
I did not brake
dared it to cross
it gave a silent
nod
lifted
its head
to scan the horizon
ears
pressed
nose
smelling
oranges
in
my
wake
About the Creator
Cali Loria
Over punctuating, under delivering.
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After the Storm
After the storm of winter snow there sat a small bear by the name Ted, of course. He loves the snow and likes to roll around in it making all sorts of trails and whatever he has a mind to do. He wondered where all the people are, but in a way, he is hoping that they are all snug in the homes maybe drinking hot chocolate-one of his favorite drinks with mini-marshmallows and eating something homemade for he likes this winter wonderland all to himself to romp and play and maybe even catch some fish down by the river.
By Mark Graham4 days ago in Fiction
Comments (2)
Your words reminded me that mourning isn’t just about sadness, it’s about noticing the tiny, vivid fragments of life that carry on. I felt like I was right there, tasting the oranges, feeling the lingering weight of Sunday morning.
Dear CL - You are the Queen of Metaphors. Orange you glad I said that..! jk.in.l.a.