A Bowl-Ful of Clementines
The woman decides
on which cat to take home
from the local pound.
She had been torn
between two.
She had viewed
a youngish grey-white
cat, nervous, bold.
And uncomfortable-
looking. Yet his fur
colors remind
the woman
of storm-clouds,
heavy August afternoons
rowing an uncle's
little row-boat
on the pond
with the wooden raft
that pulls and BUOYS
her. Yet...like sun-light
fulfilling the morning
with its shine,
an older cat
with deepest yellows
and an edge of sea
in her eyes,
convinces the woman
to choose HER
orange"fluff",
that sprouts
from her skin,
like dandelion seeds
when they are ready
to fling
through the breezes
to plow new roots.
HER orange
is a brush
of the hand
on something soft,
to soothe, tantalize.
While the woman
considers, she
has an evocation:
like...
an orange
star-burst-
sparklers
in her hand-
tangy sweet tart
flavors in her mouth.
She knows
a Summer sky.
She anticipates
the sharp eruption
that will alight
her tongue,
her gums,
her throat.
The
inundation,
of taste...
or...
maybe...
her mouth
can't quite...
take it, but
-loves it-
She contemplates
the gold sienna
(of
her new
cat)
her breakfast juice,
maybe even
“Tang".
A clementine,
one amongst
a bowl-ful;
an
orange Grove;
the LIFE-SAVER?
Dark orange flames
to warm her,
like the only friend...
in childhood.
Copyright © Jennifer Cahill | Year Posted 2020
Post Comments
Poetrysoup is an environment of encouragement and growth so only provide specific positive comments that indicate what you appreciate about the poem. Negative comments will result your account being banned.
Please
Login
to post a comment