And even now I find myself smelling clementine. A
Borrowed sweetness hanging still over the air—this
Careening force that brings me back to you:
Dancing around checkered picnic blankets, peeling off the grass, an
Effort to share each morsel of space and air and moment and
Food. The crumbing of muffins. The peeling of an orange. And there I’m
Going. Circling around you, hanging, holding, hoping that each sense can keep fresh,
Haunting the memories of my mind like a ghost with my mouth, moving furniture
In a sweetly rotten room to prove my presence in what was abandoned,
Jaw unhinged, howling through engorgement, clementine rinds sickly
Kissing my tongue. I’ve searched for each crumb I
Let fall in inattention, groping fingers start back at the beginning—retrace
My steps: I can’t have misremembered yet. I’m sure I know the smell of clementine.

Oh, My Word! Olivia would love to hear from you after reading this poem. Leave a comment below!

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Oh, My Word! is a weekly updated blog featuring fiction, poetry, drama, and essays for the world. #OhMyWordWednesday

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Hello! I am a poet and essayist who sometimes likes to share her work with the world! I am currently an English major at the University of Iowa and write as often as I can (when not spiraling into the black voids of the internet).

2 Comment on “Peeling of an Orbit

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