Citrus Fruit

Citrus fruit-skin bursting 

Hidden pores—prisons breaking— 

The scent of what tangy tangerines taste like 

Droplets fall through air 

Then moisten lady’s dress so fair 

The dress no longer fair 

Yet emitting into air  

The scent of what tangy tangerines taste like 

Her cheeks fluster, blood is pumping 

Into capillaries—tubes that show 

Emotion— 

There is creaking in the chair 

As its fibers are enduring  

Embarrassed lady, half despaired, 

Searching how to ease  

Attention’s grip 

Maybe she could slip away 

As each person’s eyelid curtains 

Close for light’s next scene  

But a frail hand is raised 

With a tissue barely held 

Between the clammy, shaking finger tips. 

Her eyes are drawn up the arm, 

To such sorry shining eyes 

So sorry as if to say 

“I apologize, I apologize” 

He stands and wades through  

Gazes low and high 

And gently presses tissue to the side  

Where the dress emits the scent  

Of what tangy tangerines taste like… 

The shaking slender arm  

Wipes away her fear, alarm. 

Attention, gazes low and high, 

The laughing, focused eyes 

Are wiped aside, wiped aside 

He stands there caring, sorry, sharing— 

A single white and wearing tissue 

Presses to the lady’s side 

And with the tissue worn, 

She looks around and sees 

The laughter, scorn, 

The mocking, pointing, 

And the ha ha he’s  

They're all aimed at those sorry shining eyes 

He, a jest, a juggler, jibed 

For that tasty tangy fruit 

That was dropped and died 

In a juicy mess... 

One mistake was made 

For as he threw the fruit, he laid 

His eyes on that lady with her 

Dress so fair 

Her laughing, lovely eyes  

Had reflected beauty, joy—the skies 

Of all his longings from before— 

And would he not have dropped  

The tangy tasty fruit  

He’d have a minute more 

To fix his gaze and adore 

The lady with her dress so fair… 

Now, he walks away  

Sullen, shaken, sad 

What on earth could be more bad 

In this wretched, shameful day? 

But as he walks in sullen mood, 

Ever deep his saddened brood, 

And thinking that his life is surely through, 

He hears a footfall from behind 

And turns around to see Eve’s kind 

Clad in that dress so fair 

Then in a thin and gentle voice 

She says to him whose life is “through” 

“For the sorry sharing…  

For the gentle caring… 

For embarrassment repairing eyes..” 

(With her own shining, grateful eyes) 

“Thank you… friend” 

O the skies! the skies! 

Of his longings from before 

Now not a glance or gaze 

But a friend to adore.

*     *     *     *     *     *     *

Two experiences inspired this poem. The first inspiration was an orange peel that I closely examined one night. I took a knife and cut it many ways to see the layers of pores that contain citrus oil. It was actually quite fascinating, because the complexity and beauty of this orange peel was just astounding. The second source of inspiration was a wedding I attended the day I wrote it. Everything was so fancy, and all the girls attending were wearing very magnificent dresses. They reminded me of the Victorian Era, and of course, all the social practices of the time. You may wonder, however, how I came out with this ridiculous poem. Well, here's the story:

After studying about the use of imagery in a poetry book, I decided I need to attempt writing a poem whose main focus would be to create a mental image. This is when I remembered my examination of an orange peel. So I determined to write a description of this amazing creation of God. But as soon as I got to "droplets fall through air" I thought of a girl that had gotten her dress dirty by accident at the wedding. Thus a scene began to emerge. From there I decided there needs to be a culprit whose fault it was that the lady's fair dress was now sticky with the juice of a citrus fruit. I can't really explain how the rest followed, but because I had thought of the Victorian era, I also had thoughts of medieval jesters that would juggle things. This made for a wonderful character, because jesters are practically nobodies. But this jest is different. He tries to fix his mistake, and despite all social barriers that would need to be broken, he helps the young lady. 

A few lines that I'd like to note are the following:

He stands and wades through  

Gazes low and high 

And these as well:

Attention, gazes low and high, 

The laughing, focused eyes 

Are wiped aside, wiped aside

These lines came to mind, because I have often felt the weight of another's stare. It's hard to do something right or even step out of your comfort zone when you know someone is watching. We sometimes think that if no one was there to scrutinize us, we'd be free to do the right thing. But the reality is, it's not the people looking that's the problem, it's us. We're the ones who think we need to live up to the standards of others. In reality though, the standards are our own creation. My poem doesn't reference God, but I think it's important to make a note about him here. God is the ultimate judge, and it is before him that all our thoughts and actions are displayed. In the end, no one besides him will be our judge. So don't fear people. Think of what God desires of you as you walk before men, because if you do what is pleasing to him, you will be doing what's best for your neighbor and storing treasure for yourself in heaven.

I hope you enjoyed "Citrus Fruit." I definitely enjoyed writing it. One more thing though. I feel this poem is kind of incomplete, and if you have any grammatical advice or something along the lines of that, I would greatly appreciate it. Blessings!