The Indicator x The Student: “Orange Me Open”

Does the orange want to be peeled? Tenderly

I push my fingernail through her stubborn rind,

reveal the bulge of her white-veined flesh.

She’s almost throbbing with juices. They’re almost

circulating through her. It’s almost music.

Violin strings curve like a net around her pulp,

asking to be played, plucked. Does she want me

to unstring her? Does she want me to suck

the seeds from her body, show them

to the sun? Yes, I want you to kiss me.

There are seeds in my throat, whole clusters

of them, and I’m afraid they’ll sprout before

they land in soil. I’m picturing an orange

deformed by little oranges swelling inside it,

tumors. I am getting too full of juice.

I squeeze it out into these words; tell me

if they’re pulpy, tell if they’re sweet.