My thumbnail presses
into tangerine top,
oily mist spray arcs
over my hand,
fragrant and sharp.
One pull and threads
of pith and peel
surrender, revealing
segments and skin.
Would that everything
open this easily.
My son grows more
quiet as each month goes
by and I want—like citrus
pieces in my hand—
what he wants, what
he worries about,
what he hopes for,
so I can hand them over
to him. Bitter white sponge
flesh and wooden pips
hide inside. He’ll grow
his own secrets. I peel
tangerine after tangerine.
MICHELE PARKER RANDALL is the author of Museum of Everyday Life (Kelsay Books 2015) and A Future Unmappable (Finishing Line Press 2021). Her work can be found in Nimrod International Journal, Atlanta Review, Bellevue Literary Review, and elsewhere.
Latest posts by Michele Parker Randall (see all)
- Florida Grown - March 25, 2022
- The Kingfishers - May 22, 2017
