The Connective Tissue of Segmented Fruits

“I like oranges,” she says, again,
midnight hair thrown back,
amber eyes flashing.
I had heard her, the first time.

But it was no fault of mine—
or was it?—we had not shared the fruit:
the first of her Dear Johns had followed
my failure to fathom her implication.

“I hate honeydew,” she later spat,
spying my melon in her Coldspot.
Yes, I knew, but had no chance to explain
it was a Buena Vista orange-flesh cant.

I was again, not long after, banished
for buying the wrong brand of banana.
Her passions ran oddly deep, I knew,
but they seemed to meet my needs.

So now, with a sense of déjà vu,
I anticipate her words as she reclines
on a blue and white striped serape
in the setting Mazatlan sun:

Yes, to be sure, I already know
as her amber eyes flash
beneath those midnight locks—
“I like oranges,” she says.

“Even the white stuff.”

About Greg Wright

I have worn many hats as a writer and editor over the years. Unlike my scholarly and journalistic work from the "old days" at Hollywood Jesus, Past the Popcorn, or SeaTac Blog, the writing here is of a more overtly personal and spiritual nature. I hope it provokes you as much as it provokes me.
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