Grief As An Orange | Lydia Ford

Grief As An Orange

BY LYDIA FORD

An orange rind peeled
in one swift ribbon,

white veins of pith
snaked around

ripened grief offering.
Glinting, a little sun

in the center of the bowl,
a still life for a still life,

reflecting sweet and sour gem,
blinding, squinting at the fruit of it,

glistens a warm memory,
juice weeping between the fingers

A pucker, confetti of pulp in the belly.
Bloated with remedial fullness.

Lydia Ford is a poet based in Colorado, where she lives with her boyfriend and two cats, Melon and Zuko. Her work has been published in Words Dance Magazine, Ink & Marrow, boats against the current, Beyond Words Magazine and wildscape lit. You can often find her in her local coffee shop, probably telling someone about the music playing overhead or her love of nostalgia. More of her work lives on Instagram @lydfordwrites