Ripe Oranges by Natalie Marino



Ripe Oranges


Orange flowers

explode into gold

under aging


moonlight,

their sweet smell

like love’s fever.


The oranges are plump

with spring, and we

slice them open.


Their bursting perfume

pierces the black air.

We eat them before


they fall, because we know

the universe does not see us,

because we know


we are candles

holding small flames

waiting for the wind.




Natalie Marino is a writer, mother, and physician. She graduated with a BA in American Literature from UCLA. Her work appears or is forthcoming in Barren Magazine, Capsule Stories, Emerge Literary Journal, Feed Lit Mag, Green Ink Poetry, Literary Mama, Moria Online, and others. She lives in Thousand Oaks, California.







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