Thursday, December 24, 2009

hesperidium (for Vivienne)


Algerian orphan fruit
Are those clementines or clementina on your shelf? So orange like in Italy where they sell the leaves still on.
tough rinded, limonene oil
Where I buy them when I buy them sweet fruit at three euros not a pound but a kilo
or Canton Guangxi mandarin
At the supermarket on the hill where I do not shop, only two euros fifty for the same amount.
Christmas oranges
I bag them myself, with that juice that is bitter and the cheese your mom likes. The lady at the register doesn't speak English but she's efficient, the line moves
Father Clément Rodier in his garden, seeking for the children
and then I am home, but never at home when this world's not mine.
the unexpected, mercy of a desert place
Do you know that I always think of you, when I peel the clementinas, sweetness of a bitter life?
Did you know that Segni used to have a Jewish quarter (Via della Giudea, recognisable by the telltale horseshoe loop shape of a miniature ghetto)?
Coming back, coming back soon, but never close.

2 comments:

Matt said...

What amazing energies in this poem--i love it!

Jeffrey J. Cohen said...

Thanks Matt: that means a lot to me.