All the wild places you held oranges

Somehow our family journal--our Coronavirus edition that is--has become a 3 part entry including a drawing of the day, a recap, and a poem.

I was just finishing my entry, which included a still life sketch of a bowl of oranges TCF brought to me and as I lingered with the beauty of the citrine queen, so taken by its smiling perfection, its sacrifice and its lace, I got to thinking about all the places I have held oranges in my hands like, naming a few, all those soccer half times growing up at LA County parks, oranges in Torrance, or in Mexico after you washed them with  aqua purificada and then all those times for juicing and then in college when you ate very little because you thought you were fat and all the times they looked different and wondered is this an orange? And the little bitty teeny tiny oranges that grew in Ma's backyard next to the lemon bushes with all those sunstreaked waxy so green they were almost black leaves I'd give anything to see now, to rub against my cheeks, white blossoms, like Heaven, in my hair, raining down in soft focus as though it would last forever.

And all that thinking and linking of citrus memories got me writing so much I thought it might make a good prompt and I oughta write it down and share. And you'll see for yourself: It's juicy. 🍊🍊🍊🍊🍊🍊