Media Naranja (Prose Poem)

Media Naranja

In the beginning we were all just whole—we were sweet oranges, rolling around, content. But all it took was one divine decision—a split—and now we search every wrinkle of the earth for our Media Naranja. But if you were anything but an orange, that’d be okay too. If you were a tree, shocked to the core by a lightning strike, left smoldering and broken—or if you were one half of the grand canyon, yawning and yearning to be reunited. Or even if you were half of a grapefruit—I would just want to be a grapefruit too.

In the Bread Aisle

I have a short list of words—

Words I would whisper out into

The deepdeepdeep night

With the bigbigbig trees—

The trees that I think are all

About sex.

An arrangement of letters

Wrapped into one of those billions

Of words

That I haven’t ever said to you before.

I would touch your ear again,

Feeling the

Peach fuzz that

Covers it completely. Feeling your

Heart

Beat

Through the thin fabric of your pajamas

Across your broad ribcage.

I can feel each coil of muscle

Where it attaches

To each piece of bone.

But who watched you move silently,

Violently,

Achingly aware of your proximities.

Stiffly grasping, like a broken-backed bird.

All the while silently sobbing—

But refusing to wake

The sleeping world?

Me.

So I’ll stare at the intrusive glow of

My phone screen,

The blue reaching back into my

Orbital Fenestra,

Where it can’t hurt anyone.

I will turn it off

And go to sleep. 

Above

I don’t know if you have ever looked at the sky—

Sometimes, when I do

All I can see are rabbits in the clouds,

Or mermaids.

Or even mammoth creatures.

But usually, just clouds.

Every once in a while the sky

Turns purple. And we all have

To wait awhile

Before climbing trees.

Even oftener still,

The sky lets loose

A magnificent barrage

Of water.

And we should all stand in amazement.

But,

We don’t.

All of this,

To say that I will always love you. 

Rewrite

We are both aware of how

The story ends—

The prince leaves the fox,

And that’s all there is.

We’ve read it,

And loved it,

And held it in esteem—

Despite knowing the fact

That all things come to an end.

Through all of the late nights,

Both in transit and here,

We kept trying to define

What drew us so near.

Dancing to January,

And prancing through graveyards,

Lifting our voices

And drinking Hopelandic.

You asked how to tame me

And I didn’t answer—

But you made it happen,

Which both scared me and thrilled me.

There’s so much that’s happened

And so much held suspended,

I need all your fear as I

Navigate this ending.

I want this, I want you,

But not the way it has been.

We need something more

To remain more than friends.

I’ve loved you,

I’ve loved you,

And I’ve loved you

Some more.

But where did that get us?

To this impasse on the floor.

Wake yourself up

And be ready to fight me.

We’re not coming back to this

Place where we’re swaying.

We’ve both been good at

Sweating the small stuff,

But let’s not forget

What got us here in the first place.

You saw a wild fox,

And you wanted to tame her.

She resisted at first,

But then the changes were subtle.

You used to shout from your

Windows to the wind.

At the thought that this

Fox could be falling for you.

The fox loves the prince,

And the story unfolds,

But let’s look for a minute at the

Less often told.

The prince leaves the fox

After finally taming.

The fox is quite brave,

But can’t keep from wailing.

I have a question,

For my little prince.

Are we telling a story?

Or writing our own?

Do we let someone else

Write the end of this tale?

We must decide now

Whether to stay or to bail. 

To the Moon

will I ever be ready?

when it comes down to the day

the hour

the minute

the second

will I be ready?

I’ve always tried to tell myself, yes.

yes I will be ready

yes I am ready

yes of course without a doubt

there’s no hesitation

no fear

no moment of precipicity and balancing action.

I’ve been ready from the start.

but, am I ready,

little one?

am I ready to be expanded

and consumed

and frightened by the unknown sounds and creaks that will keep me awake through the night through the day through your cries and your coos through the echoes of a not-so-lonely life?

if only. If only.

I could wake up and hold the world

in my arms and

comfort the world when it cries

and kiss the world to assuage fears

and love the world so it knows me best.

you. You are the world and the moon and the stars

and the rocking of the earth as it tilts into me.

you will always be my world,

even now,

before we’ve met,

and before we have even gotten the chance to meet.

“Then he lay down close by and whispered with a smile, ‘I love you right up to the moon—and back’”.

Halo

I miss my friend—

Is he in there somewhere?

And I miss the way you cared.

Life’s a dream when the color’s up—

All the world will stop and stare.

And that’s the worst!

I know how you think—

It’s their prying eyes

That make you compromise

The feelings I know that you feel.

An open shut case on my

Head and my heart are the

Most civilized of all.

That’s not how it worked

And I’m calling your bluff—

Don’t pretend that this isn’t a wall.

Run along coward

And try not to think.

You’ve gotten so tangled in this.

Blame I won’t share in our timely demise—

It’s your fault that there’s something to miss.

Running makes sense for someone like you.

A man who has shame to spare.

You weren’t alone,

But you made it that way

When you decided life isn’t to share.

Your halo was right there in my sight

And no one that I knew could compare.

But halos fall and that’s not all.

Please remember, it was you—

You’re the one who made me feel small.

Your Face

We lay on the floor,

And the shooting stars were fake—

But your face was love

Inch by Inch

Inch by inch

I felt my way

Through the dark spots in your mind.

Excavation helped me know

Who we were,

And how we fell.

Every day I’d

Hold you tight.

Succumbing when you left.

The atlas game

Of where you went;

It always left me spent.

My feet stayed stuck

On dreams I had

Of you and I so strong.

I wasn’t scared

And you held still

While I lifted up my voice.

Step by step

I found the path

Through all your troubled halls.

I took the time

To learn your heart;

But how were you with mine?

Fingertips stretched

Out to walls—

The holes are filled with fear.

The long dark road

Of your bothered mind

Is all that brought me here.

I’d take the pain;

And I guess I did.

I never once gave up!

My steps were small

And the road was long,

I didn’t really need an end.

Just your smile,

Your listening smile.

As we turned into more than friends.

That’s what I got,

That’s how it was.

At least for a moment I lived.

No apologies here,

Not from this girl—

What have I to apologize for?

I loved you!

That hurts to say.

I hear you laughed at me.

Is it just this?

Are we now gone?

You closed the maze of doors.

I’m just a girl

You held close once—

It’s on your face that you don’t care.

Are you okay?

I’d like to hear

The newest ups and downs.

Can we be friends?

Now that it’s done—

Strangely you won’t look at me.

Here’s my face—

This brave one’s on!

It’s fake cause that’s your game.

Inch by inch

I felt my way

Through halls I did not own.

Inch by inch

I touched your face

And thought your heart would grow.

Inch by inch

And step by step

We never learned our way.

Inch by inch

Let’s go again

And take our time this round.

Inch by inch

I’m reaching now

For the latest page in mine.

Inch by inch

I’ll go along—

I’ll feel okay in time.

I Am

I am who I am because

My father almost never cries

But my mother does enough for the both of them.

I am who I am because books were shoved at me from birth

And I fell in love.

I’m a warrior and a princess

And I don’t think that makes me weak.

I can stand up to you

Even if it makes me cruel

Because sometimes you need to

Break all the rules.

I am who I am because my skin loves the sun

And my heart hates it more.

I think I was born with rain boots on.

And even when it’s not raining,

It’s sprinkling anyway, somewhere in the world.

I am the daughter of people who believe

And faith will always be a part

Of my home.

Of my mind.

Of my heart.

I am who I am because

Love is worth risking the world

And nothing is worse than forgetting that.

I am brave and I can stand ready for the hit;

Because

To fall in love is to willingly become an open target.

I am who I am because hiding is a joke

And everyone should know that.

I am who I am because I can always go home

To the hot chocolate and lavender house.

I am who I am because I know what to do

With a broken heart.

In those moments when it seems like too much

I can remember that the world is full of

Lilacs and footprints.

It’s full of raindrops and skyscrapers.

Along with the fears and the wars there are still

Old books for smelling and

Poems to be written.

I am who I am because I know what to do

With a broken heart.

August 2nd

It’s a date.

It’s a name.

It’s a poem.

It’s a season.

It’s a man.

I can’t help but stare

And feel my fingertips and toes

And ends of my hair fill to the brim

With the moon—which I ate.

He and I obliterate the aching space in between

And tumble down the quick, dark blue

Where stars live.

I didn't know who he would be—

But I swear, I had an inkling.

He is a song.

He is a poem.

He is a name.

He is a man.

He is a world.

For all the world, I've never met someone

So dark, his windows blocked by time and pain.

But I shall, I will be the turning of a life—

Clean & changed & bright we’ll be.

I’ll come with rags in tow, until my hands turn red.

Because August 2^nd

Is a date.

It’s a name.

It’s a poem.

It’s a season.

It’s my heart.

It’s a man.

More Okay

There was always a tiny moment

When I wasn’t sure how you actually

Felt about me.

It was the split second before

I saw your face

And before

You folded me up, deep into you.

Somehow that didn’t deter

The grand and delightful whispers of love.

I had felt so many things in my life

That I sometimes left you for a spell.

A sabbatical of the mind.

I couldn’t help the leaving,

And the absence wasn’t planned.

It was nice that you stayed put.

I was never really all that okay

But I was more okay with you.

I love my ability to feel

But if I could turn it off for a moment

Maybe I would finally sleep soundly since last I saw you.

Every sweeping memory takes me entirely

By surprise.

The flooding feelings don’t like to leave me be

And nothing cures them the way you do.

If you could do me a favor;

Come back.

I was never really all that okay

But I was more okay with you.

The Girl

He could never sing. Not really. I mean, he could hold a note, and his voice was nothing to cringe at—but by no means and in no way was he a singer. Which made it all the sweeter when he did sing to me. Sometimes at night, after long movie viewings coupled with sessions of sticky summer kisses, I would be tired and while holding me in his arms he would just start singing. It was always very quiet, and it was always made up lyrics about me. Sometimes just my name, over and over, and then something about how much he loved me, or how beautiful I looked. Those hazy moments during the summer were one of the many losses I faced while we transitioned ourselves into fall. We were both suddenly busy—I had two jobs, and he had work and school, and we no longer celebrated our quiet moments by lying down beside each other and enjoying the darkness.

We had fewer and fewer moments under his blanket, whispering and laughing as quietly as possible while he fumbled to find me in the folds of the covering. He would feel his way along my face, finding my lips with his own, but usually finding my nose, chin, or cheek first.

We didn’t have that as often because life had happened, and we suddenly had to force time to slow down for us. This was so unlike we had ever been before. We were supposed to have it easy. The world had been ours.

Halfway through our only summer I listened to a certain song, and showed it to him later. He liked it.

“When you cry, a piece of my heart dies, knowing that I may have been the cause. If you were to leave, fulfill someone else’s dreams, I think I might totally be lost”

It was our secret song. I played it constantly, falling in love with him, but also with the song, and the idea of someone loving me that much. I had a fantasy where he sang the song to me to propose. Made all the more meaningful, of course, by the fact that he was never very good at singing. It would be flawed and perfect if he sang it to me.

But we never got that chance.

The familiar guitar chords and soft words interrupted my studying one day. Curious, I stepped into the kitchen to discover my roommate and best friend listening to it, eyes shining. How could she know, how could she not, does she not realize, does she not see? My heart was full, my eyes were thankfully dry, but the stinging sensation in my nose warned of tears.

“Isn’t this so perfect? It’s the perfect song! I know he’ll love it. And it can be our song!” the words made no sense to me.

The song, my song, his song, our song.

 It wasn’t hers to take. It meant something to me.

The song, my song, his song, our song.

We would never dance to it; never listen to it together again.

The song, my song, his song, our song.

It wasn’t for anyone else but us. How did she not realize? It wasn’t hers to take.