~

love is peeling an orange,
or so you told me.
I thought of the park, and the pomegranate I had waited two days to give you.
I couldn’t open it by myself, so I walked back to my dorm to get a plastic knife to cut it open.
The walk was nice.
Before I came back, I put some napkins in my bag. I never told you this but, secretly, I wish we hadn’t used them. I enjoy the purple stains that pomegranates leave on my fingertips, and the napkins prevented that.
I split the pomegranate for you that day. 

Now, I think about my grandparents house, the pomegranate tree in their back yard.
It was always my favorite time of the year when the pomegranates began to ripen.
Everyday, I would get home from school, and check to see if any fruit had begun to split on the tree.
When the pomegranates begin to split, they are ready to be eaten.
It feels warm now, the tree inviting me to share a meal, welcoming me through a crack in its fruit.  
To tell the truth, I don’t think I would have noticed if you hadn’t told me
love is peeling an orange.