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When breath is weight
and music swells in your chest
with no where to go

When words are noise
and distract from everything
you’re really trying to say

When you hold against want
and lean into will
and press into promise
like it will take the ache away

the act of peeling an orange
can save you

 

it occupies the hand,
the smell bursts in pressured jets,
and stings invisible cuts you never knew you had –
bad enough to make you wince
but not so bad you’d stop.
it demands discernment –
how much should you peel away?
what is your balance of bitter and sweet?

it stills time too,
because no one interrupts a person
who’s peeling an orange.

(it’s bad taste.
even kids know that.)

And when the rind is gone
in clumps and chunks
you keep on peeling,

one slice

off another

 

the flesh
is sweet
and drips
in thin, translucent legs
down the chin
and fingers.

and in the time it takes
to eat an orange
you’ll be able to breath again
with less weight –

– less the weight of an orange.

 

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