The Taste of Oranges
by Carolyn McKay
walking through your house after dark
in my bare feet
wandering from room to room
like a guide on a wilderness trail
looking for clues in the landscape
here, the bowl of valencias, sunfruit
you will peel for breakfast
I roll one around in my hands
its smell sweet and delicious
the book you are reading
lies open on the table
I pick it up and hold it close
then read a few pages
tomorrow, just for an instant
I will know what you are thinking
on the way back I notice
an unfamiliar room, door painted shut
I force the frame and crack it open
only to find it completely empty
blind drawn, the window nailed down
I close the door quickly
and rush back to your room
the noise did not seem to wake you
soon I am lost
in the warmth and taste of your body
dreaming of birds
dozens of them
trapped in a white room
their wingbeats tapping
against the windowpane
I tuck my toes up
under the blankets
close to my body
listening
and awake to brilliant sunlight
tea tray blazing on the dresser
last night's dreams are forgotten
in the first cup
and in your kiss
which still tastes
of oranges.
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FEATURE
