Boats

The green, yellow and orange

Globule of vitamins,

Brings a burst of colour

On a dry summer’s day.

I peel an orange

Recklessly pulling out the rind.

The spray of citrus

Attacks some eyes

And mine.

Each carpel is a boat,

Pulled away for a separate voyage.

Each voyage is a memory

Taking me back home

To the idleness of summer

Where my father reads a book

On his chair,

And my mother ties her hair

To prepare a pot of hot tea.

The evening sun shines

Orange and gold,

Lighting up boulders

On the hills

Outside the window.

The orange melts

In my mouth,

The pulp scatters and spurts

Igniting a surge of nostalgia.

Each carpel takes me closer

To home,

But I am soon stranded

As the boats vanish,

And I am left with the rind, some seeds

And a memory that lingers on the shore.

***