April 11, 2019Chana BellOrange Peel

this morning I feel lost

my very womb is sluggish

my glasses are smudged

my sinuses are clogged

without anchor

in the gray of this day

the cursor is pulsing

waiting for what words

I will lay next on this

sweating terry cloth robe

I feel empty and alone

tears are my companions

empty       nothing to say

and not the form

this, another, morning

I look out my bedroom window

I notice the first pink buds

on the branches of the peach tree

branches beige and gray       stark

I hold up my bare limbs

and feel the sap slowly rising

leaving a taste on my tongue

like the hibiscus flowers,

orange peel tea I am drinking

with wild clover honey

slingshot yellow rays not too hard

settling for what is soft       arrows

purple, brown, and red       they are

draw a bead on       for what is wild