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I grasped the fruit in my left hand
and checked, so gently, for ripeness
and wondered about its name
so simple to remember
So why was I distracting myself
with thoughts of names
when my stomach called me to duty

I never liked peeling oranges

I stick my thumbnail under the skin
and the scent was nice and clean,
but I didn't know if the peel
would dig under my thumb,
or if I'd stick the fruit and cause it to bleed
or to spurt
I never liked peeling oranges

I didn't know if the fruit
would be better off untouched
so pulled and ripped off
one small section of skin,
exposed the white-and-orange underneath
the skin still clinging on
and I didn't know how that might taste

I never liked peeling oranges

The skin came off, bit by bit
and I was afraid to split the fruit
for fear or rupturing a section
of that closely guarded center,
and what if it was far too tart
or if it was too sweet
if the skin still on ruined everything?
Or worse,
if it had no flavor
A valueless fruit.

I never liked
peeling oranges

I split it
and sampled one section
It was a flash
a burst of taste, so powerful
that though I tried to be slow
I could not wait for more
and the lingering aftertaste
seemed to say
that I had done right
Ridiculous, of course,
I never
liked peeling oranges
but,

when I finished, I was forever reminded
why I ever peeled one
in the first place