Forbidden Fruit
"Instead of sex,"
his father cautioned,
"eat an orange."
It seldom worked.
Many years later,
he tells me of his father's
disregarded advice,
as I peel away the knobby,
firm skin of a blood orange,
(his gift)
surprised to find pockets
of juice the color of
pomegranates running
through its fruit.
Ruby juices trickle
upon my fingers,
and into my startled mouth--
the taste is sweetly bitter,
and unlike any orange
I have eaten before.
I think of Eve,
suppress a shudder,
and lick the juice
from my hands.
This poem first appeared in Aji Magazine, Spring 2020, Issue 12
An Apology
It was not my intent
to change forever
your enjoyment
of blood oranges
or the moon that swells
now with the presence
of my death
or curse you
with a job you so detest.
oh no.
I loved you then
and I love you now.
Forgive me. Forget me.
Let the juice of oranges
taste sweet again.
This poem first appeared in Havik 2020: Homeward
Robin Michel is an educator, poet, writer, and editor who has more than 25 years’ experience working as a consultant for nonprofits and educational institutions. She has published one full-length poetry collection, Beneath a Strawberry Night Sky (Raven & Wren Press), and Things Will Be Better in Bountiful, winner of the 2023 Jessie Bryce Niles Poetry Chapbook Contest/Comstock Review. Born in Utah, Robin moved to Northern California at the age of seventeen and now lives in San Francisco. www.robinmichelwriter.com
"Instead of sex,"
his father cautioned,
"eat an orange."
It seldom worked.
Many years later,
he tells me of his father's
disregarded advice,
as I peel away the knobby,
firm skin of a blood orange,
(his gift)
surprised to find pockets
of juice the color of
pomegranates running
through its fruit.
Ruby juices trickle
upon my fingers,
and into my startled mouth--
the taste is sweetly bitter,
and unlike any orange
I have eaten before.
I think of Eve,
suppress a shudder,
and lick the juice
from my hands.
This poem first appeared in Aji Magazine, Spring 2020, Issue 12
An Apology
It was not my intent
to change forever
your enjoyment
of blood oranges
or the moon that swells
now with the presence
of my death
or curse you
with a job you so detest.
oh no.
I loved you then
and I love you now.
Forgive me. Forget me.
Let the juice of oranges
taste sweet again.
This poem first appeared in Havik 2020: Homeward
Robin Michel is an educator, poet, writer, and editor who has more than 25 years’ experience working as a consultant for nonprofits and educational institutions. She has published one full-length poetry collection, Beneath a Strawberry Night Sky (Raven & Wren Press), and Things Will Be Better in Bountiful, winner of the 2023 Jessie Bryce Niles Poetry Chapbook Contest/Comstock Review. Born in Utah, Robin moved to Northern California at the age of seventeen and now lives in San Francisco. www.robinmichelwriter.com
