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Sad Oranges

The poet ruminates about how apparent is not the real. Painted oranges in a fruit bowl may appear perfect but the sad truth is that they are in the grip of a devouring pestilence. A life and a world that appears perfect, has its own hidden flaws.

They are dying

without even knowing it.

Squinting in the Florida sun,

they destruct from the inside out,

devoured by a pestilence

of this year’s hungry bacteria.

The ripe orbs drop to the ground,

stunted and green, calling for help

in a muted chorus, thudding softly

like old tennis balls. They used to be

bright, juicy, ready for squeezing

in morning kitchens all over America.

This winter, orchards weep

chartreuse tears, one plague of many,

joining forest fires, mudslides, tornadoes,

and a high-rise apartment slithering into the sea.

Oranges prefer to nest, shoulder to shoulder,

with bananas, in an art nouveau

fruit bowl made of edible sunlight.

But theirs is the zest of bygone sugar,

the hidden pulp of despair

in the citrus rind of death.

Sad Oranges: Welcome
Fountain pen

Donna Pucciani’s poetry has been been published in diverse journals such as International Poetry Review, Spoon River Poetry Review, The Pedestal, Poetry Salzburg, Shichao Poetry, Istanbul Literary Review and Christianity and Literature. Her poetry has been translated into Chinese, Japanese and Italian, and has won awards from the Illinois Arts Council and The National Federation of State Poetry Societies, among others. She has been nominated five times for the Pushcart Prize and currently serves as Vice-President of the Poets’ Club of Chicago. She has authored several poetry collections such as Edges (2016), Ghost Garden (2016) A Light Dusting of Breath (2015), Hanging Like Hope on the Equinox (2013),To Sip Darjeeling at Dawn (2011) among others. 

Sad Oranges: Text
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