to anna

I want to tell you that in this light,

I see you as an orange. I hold

oranges in high regard, you know. The first fruit;

in itself, essentially alone. I can see the beginnings

of history's rough seeds in you, their importance

half-hearted but hidden in your pulpy sadness.

Preserve your integrity --- repeat I AM AN

ORANGE. Repeat it 10 times 'til the words come out singing.

It is important to believe in something unimportant--

like phone calls of dead soldiers to their dead wives, like the

solitary flight of birds in the afternoon. Let your prayers be

addressed to yourself. After a rough day

say, Dear orange, I thank you for the strength

you have summoned today.I admire how stoic you

looked in the middle of rows of

other oranges. I liked how I could still

tell you apart from all of them.

After that, sleep. Don't wallow in your

orange-y thoughts about your orange-y day.

Avoid wondering why

no one has picked you among all the others.

You have watched the process

so many times through the shop's

glass window--- the grocer's hand

like a mime's, placing each orange in a

paper bag, so tenderly, as if they were

short-tempered gods. Time will come,

my young orange, when the fruit that is you

would be realized as something more.

Don't be afraid of being alone. Learn to whistle.

When someone does eventually seek you out, don't hang

all your hopes on his shoulders. If you do,

do not be surprised if he flails under

the weight of crossed-fingers and afterglow.

But grow in yourself, be stout and happy

with your distinct roundness. Anyway,

you do not have to listen to me.

I am old and the light

has not decided on anything. At times it withholds more than

it tells. But you are not my story

and you are no one's fruit.

Like right now, the wry twist of your mouth

says that you are already far away,

beyond the once-mighty breath, rolling

on and on; freedom -- the only sound that keeps you going.