A Meandering of Oranges on Monday Morning

like in a poem, i breakfast on coffee and oranges,
each slice like a crescent of sun in the spring,
and my calendar squares have gathered like a bouquet of lilacs,
so i breathe in this morning, watch the thin line of mercury
rising like tides to promise a summer of smoldering.
i finish my coffee while you shower and change.

when i walk through the city, beggars ask me for change,
and i give them my quarters and the promise of oranges
with the end of my cigarette silently smoldering.
i empty my pockets and i fill them with spring—
my time, says the tarot, i’m the child of Mercury,
but i place my faith in myself and the lilacs.

some part of me has always been soaked in dream lilacs,
in the sounds of the stars, in the clinking of change
that i held in my palm and smoothed silver with mercury.
my child-self remembers clove-studded oranges.
for a moment i breathe, and it’s fall and not spring,
and i can almost smell piles of leaves softly smoldering.

there is so much of my history that i burned and left smoldering,
and the smoke sometimes smells like the perfume of lilacs
and the ash swarms like bees in the spring,
but my past does not change.
my father will always have given me wounds and not oranges.
i will have always gone crazy with bruises and mercury.

i want to wander the globe, with winged feet, like Mercury.
i want to find water for my history’s smoldering.
i want to love you forever because you bring me oranges.
i want to harvest our dreams together, like lilacs.
and i finish my coffee while you shower and change.
and i sit on your balcony and listen to spring.

i am not the only flower this spring.
you put on your belt, with the buckle like mercury.
from the dresser, you fill your pockets with change.
and you suddenly hold me, somehow aware of my smoldering,
and my calendar squares have gathered like lilacs,
and my heart is as full as ripe, juicy oranges.

you kiss me like spring; i leave my cigarette smoldering.
i am the child of Mercury with my faith in the lilacs,
and the sounds of your change, and the gifts of your oranges.

Advertisements

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s