Poem from years ago

photo by Sylvia
photo by Sylvia

A Memory

Slicing into an orange, the juice misting
the hairs on my arm, twinkling under
the kitchen light, lighting my senses;
I remember watching my mother
peel oranges.

Her movements—
a Zen-like procedure, ripe with anticipation,
with desire, drift like a moist halo
around my head.

In slow motion, my thoughts linger over the image; her hands, the glint on the silver knife, the woodgrain on the handle, the perfect orb bursting with liquid gold, the pungent smell, teasing and tickling my nose.
I am eight again.

“Mom!”
“What?”
“Are you even listening? Have you heard anything I’ve said?”
“Yes” I say, “I’m sorry bud.”

I look into the eyes of my son, who is eight.

4 thoughts on “Poem from years ago”

  1. in the UK, in the 50’s, oranges were not sweet enough – a square hole was cut into one end, (there’s a picture in my head of my mother doing it) and a sugar cube inserted, we sucked through it – can you imagine! tea with sugar as well as milk too ….

    Like

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