A Tangerine Rots in Oregon


Our love is a squeezed tangerine rotting

in the 2 by 4 boxed compost of my backyard.

I am sorry if this upsets you, although

I imagine the use of the L-word is most

upsetting and unshared. Love takes

many forms; ours is musky

from weeds and spent spinach.

My friends’ skepticism waxes when the

garage motion sensor light catches

the earthworms that writhe in the soil

of other fruit I once claimed to breathe.

The past is the past

when my fingers no longer stick citrus

and the pulp that remains

from our kisses falls from my cheek.

In a couple of weeks, my roommates and I will

reseed the backyard in the soil I have fed for sixth months,

convincing them it was for something


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