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.

Pencil Dreams

It’s a world made up of pencil dreams,

And you were the only one that seemed real.

The windows shake, but my door won’t break,

Because I know it’s okay to feel.

Tumble down my aching neck.

The gleam of tears is bright!

Pithy comments, don’t break my heart,

I’ll meet you at first light.

Kiss me now, please, kiss me here!

I’m keen to keep you near.

I’d like to lose myself in this,

But away from you I’ll steer.

Solitary, I am—but no!

The winds of what I know still blow.

Left behind, and you’re just fine,

I can see my cue to go.

My mind is a whirl of plastic bags,

Their banners burning bright!

I held your hand, saw no red flags,

And kept us in the light.

Why am I the one so scared?

Just pathetic, more than sad.

It seems unfair, that you’re right there,

And I’m not. So is that bad?