By Olivia Yang
Dawn’s orchard surprises even the paper boy. Her orange tree, basked in morning light; its crystals sparkle. Fruits hanging gently, with one tug they fall. A basketful left at the entrance for him, thinly covered by a white blanket.
The wild geese long gone
Imprinted tracks on snowfields
Soft knocks on her door.
From inside the frosted window presents a wintery pavilion, now only stale remnants of fresh green gardens. Blossoming chrysanthemum tea steams from the cup and it mixes with the wafting scent of roasting chestnuts. Drink and eat, while watching the pillowing fuzz and averting craving eyes. She knows that look you get when you’re about to lie, yet you say it anyway. It’s not the last farewell, the last goodbye.
Paperboy at the door frame, white flakes landing on his head. The many picked orange suns leaving behind a crescent moon dancing in its place, in the dark purple and cotton candy haze. Her early fallen dusk yearning for the warm sakura glow. Once more, her soft lips separate.
See our breaths mix
Oh, my bittersweet citrus
A sour departure.
Comments