My youngest daughter
is eating an orange
and wrestling
with her high school lit assignment
to write a poem based on a list
of 10 objects around her.
The objects are the easy part
since our dining room table
is her pandemic desk
school-issue Chromebook
between baskets of spring eggs
from our hens
my collection of green glass
holding candles
sliding boxes of wooden matches
dust
and a flat oval tray of citrus
grapefruits
oranges
a lemon
gifts from my mother's last trip
to Costco.
My daughter moves to the couch
when I start dinner
then she remembers something
and calls out,
are you eating that old orange?
the one I started to peel? oh, please do not eat that old orange!
it looked juicy
but inside it had started to dry out
and just looking at it made me sad.
Hello, my sister,
I say to the orange,
I know you
we are
together
in this