Blood Oranges by Alexis Rotella

Alexis Rotella
from Camembert Comes from the Sea, White Peony Press

BLOOD ORANGES

Not once did the phone ring.
An uninspiring day
and then my white cat comes home
after ten days
gaunt and weak.

I feed her cream and mackerel
from a cranberry-glass dish
(the one I used for fruit cocktail
when I was a kid).
Her ribs show
and her lip is bleeding.

You did this once before, sister cat,
moon child babe.
I never know which stroke
will be my last.
Can’t force you to stay,
can’t do anything.

Doorbell.
A neighbor from Italy
smelling of wind.
Once, nine years ago,
I told her how fond I was
of blood oranges,
but they were impossible to find.

Blood oranges from Catania,
four of them in a paper sack,
four oranges and one emaciated cat.

This entry was posted in Poetry and tagged , , by Miriam Sagan. Bookmark the permalink.

About Miriam Sagan

I'm blogging about poetry, land art, haiku, women artists, road trips, and Baba Yaga at Miriam's Well (https://miriamswell.wordpress.com). The well is ALWAYS looking to publish poetry on our themes, sudden fiction, and guest bloggers and musers.

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