and the outside felt so good,
like a fresh breeze blowing through
my worn out brain
or fragrant petals floating round
my bruised heart,
as the blue sky hung above,
speckled with stars I can’t see.
As I made my way towards the park,
I ate a clementine, picked and shipped
by loving family on the West Coast
and I swear,
I could taste the California light
in each bright, juicy bite.
I savored the curvy canyons
and craggy coastline
and the cold Pacific on my tongue.
Fingers sticky, I grasped the empty rind,
now bereft of its secret inside,
and felt the drops of rain
that started to dampen my hair,
threatening to soak my circle skirt
and saturate the swell of an ocean
churning in my chest.
Even as I ran home,
my leather boots beating the pavement
like a drum
the taste of faraway fruit lingering
on my cracked lips,
This is all we have.
And oh, how rich we are.