By Emma McNulty
My sister and I walk home
Through the slush and snow
To the promise
Of coffee beans and tangelos.
They are in a brown crate
That my mother keeps
In the fridge. I had one
For breakfast, and it was sweet.
Once home, our mittens hung,
We move like mice
To the kitchen and bask
In the cool white light.
My sister sets the crate
On the kitchen table
And reveals 11 ripe fruits,
All a bright orange color.
I peel back the rinds
With care and set them aside
To candy the bitter sour shells
With sugar and love later.
Then, we eat.
I break the tangelo in two halves
And hand one to my sister
With syrup on my fingers.
The kitchen is warm
And she brews the coffee
While I stay at the table savoring
The certainty of springtime
That I hold in my hands.
We speak and laugh together
As the sun shines through the window.
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