Ms. Bright Orange Clementine

Here! Take this!
It’s just a piece of my trust,
About the size of a clementine,
Cute, precious,
Not too much to give away!

I giggle as you peel the skin and
Shove the whole fruit into your mouth.
How strange…!, I think,
Finding it unusual and
Deciding to be charmed.

Every day, we do this.
I hand you a piece of me.
You do something weird with it.
I am so enamored with my observations,
I forget to notice you never give me fruit.

Sometimes,
You buy a flower from the store.
I tend it carefully
Until it wilts.

You come by every day for lunch.
I expect you;
I save my fruits.

Your hunger grows, and,
When I hesitate to hand over my last,
Mushy-looking pint of raspberries,
You grimace at me.
I apologize.

A pang hits my chest and I do not think of how
Ms. Bright Orange Clementine
Never could have imagined
Herself reduced to
Unnamed last-of-the-season berry seller…

Instead, I curl inward,
Shoulders pointing down as my spine arches,
Covering my skin-bound ribs and hollow belly.

The empty farmers market tables all around me
Do not read, “Proudly out of stock.”
Instead, they tell everyone I
Failed to plan well,
Failed to plant,
Failed to water…

But I remember the spring and summer.
I remember the long, hot days in the garden.
I remember how your eyes sparkled when you ate my clementine in one bite.

One day, I will look back and rename that sparkle Lust.

This next season, though,
The garden is tended by my fragile body.

It may well be
Several rotations
Before I am fed enough
To stock my tables again.