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Image by Cora Leach

Bruised Oranges

Writer: Nolcha FoxNolcha Fox

At the end, orange for you was a color.

Orange for me was a fruit.

We shared a common language

but didn't understand the words.


At the beginning, words didn’t matter.

We were orange juice and vodka,

a heady mix of love and lust,

a hope for haven.


I hurt you before the end.

I squeezed oranges into the wound

neither of us saw, but sensed,

blood juice of the fruit.


After over 30 years,

I’m still sorry.

So sorry.


inspired by Tiana Clark’s “Proof:”


published on The Interstitial

 
 
 

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