20, 2, 23
Those small oranges
Not even big as a handful. The only type easy enough to peel. Flavourful enough to be worth the peeling. That first piece of peel, Always pinch it between my fingers so I can inhale the stronger scent of citrus oils. Did you know if you hold a lighted match close to the peel while you squeeze the little jets of oils will do split second bursts into flames. Each flame sounding a little bit like a whistling fire work. Tiny streaks blue flames for tiny moments whistling themselves out. Don’t remember who taught me that. It was one of those boyhood things that everyone in the neighbourhood seemed to know. Like how to make a sling shot using a coat hanger and some inner tubbing. Which yards you could cut through to sneak up to the reservoir. How to whistle, how to tie a slip knot, how to light a match, how to sneak cigarettes from your parents, how to fix a bicycle chain, friends showing things to friends.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Today the rain
Sails across the sky
Sounds against the house
Even the dog keeps patient
Let’s me finish my little orange and a cuppa tea
Before setting up we’ll walk.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Let them be unto themselves
Secret never to be told
A futile fantasy
Reveals nothing
But the fact
No one can be truly known
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
What can you do when you don’t know where the trauma
Shaking you around all knee jerk and random
Comes from?
Where do you go when you don’t know where to go?
No places but for slow simmer heart aches occasionally boiling over.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
