ode to clementine
alahna vallone
The fruit of my loins is painted across my tongue,
a sticky tangerine in a fickle summer’s afternoon.
Her strings, the pith, decorate that hazy apartment.
The smell of your sap fills each dusty rooms,
a perfume more loyal than the syrupy sweat above my lips.
Soak into my skin, I beg
for plumpness as youthful as her.
Fingers clutch this orange, silk shell, oh daughter–
let us taste the transient love.
The slices slip down my gullet, staining my withering throat
with summer citrus, rotting before spilling her secrets.
How was this death kept just to a muzzled whisper,
only one gulp? Her peels do not know when
to give up their long-lasting stench of naivety.
She is meant to decompose within two years,
but I hope she quits begging
for my spit back sooner.
There was a image of her, a tawny light in our graying home,
yet here we are, at the dusk of this summer harvest.
So I bury her skin with my hunger, let us rest
with the lemon peels and sneering gnats.
I forget the days she was worshiped
in hopes that next year, in a sweeter dawn, I will find
another a fresh tangerine, sweet beyond the surface.
Alahna Vallone is an artist in her senior year of Creative Writing at Douglas Anderson School of the Arts in Jacksonville, Florida. She focuses on confessional poetry and lyrical fiction. She’s an alumnus of Sewanee Young Writers’ Conference and is the current Managing Editor of Élan Literary Magazine. Her work discusses womanhood, lost youth, and the tragedies we witness, and has been recognized by Scholastic Art and Writing Awards and First Coast Young Voices.
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