Ode to Oranges

Winter slice screwdriver, 
groves and groves along the side of the highway, 
fighting sunstroke in the sand. 
Bitter seed crush. Half moons of marrow under nails. 
Once, dizzy with miasma, my mother 
told me, ‘eat an orange’. I ate a whole bag. 
Saintly citrus, pull the poison from the blood. 
Brazier bright drops, 
ravelled vow,
observance more holy than sacrament. 
Sweet as birch bark ghosts. 
I weigh you in my hand.  ​

BY KALI NORRIS, AKA SEKHMET

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Poet's Statement 

Oranges aren't the most peculiar subject for an ode, but they're not as romantic as many idols, and may seem mundane. This was an assignment, and I knew as soon as I was told we would be writing odes that I would write mine about oranges. They're everyday, yes, a fruit like any other, but part of poetry is digging into the ordinary and pulling meaning out of it. I didn't expect to find so much, or such depth of emotion. I urge you to select something familiar and explore its true meaning. Sekhmet