I watch you near dusk
squeezing the orange,
turning it, pushing pulp
against the rind.
The halves you leave,
backs touching on the table,
beside the pink leather gloves
you gave me, now softened,
loosened by your fingers’
careful stride.
I give you the next one
palm up, and we press
the lines of our hands
into the lush fruit, that jasper sky.
We’d walked home that dawn
among square siena houses
stacked on the hills,
turned past the stone pine
and its open growth.
Ti sposto you’d said
as you reached an arm behind,
I thought it meant I’ll pull you,
before I learned it meant I’ll move you.
Published in Cider Press Review, Volume 24, Issue 4.
Angela Siew is a multilingual poet who received her MFA from Emerson College. She has received support from the Sewanee Writers’ Conference, the City of Boston and the Community of Writers Poetry Workshop. Her work has been published or is forthcoming in Salamander, Crab Orchard Review, and Art New England, and she is the recipient of an Academy of American Poets College Prize.
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