When I was younger, life meant forever.

Forever was an orange.

Lingering pith strands

stuck beneath nail beds.

Palms faintly yellowed

from the mist 

which clung to clothes like a child.

Sinuses stung and ducts irritated

from the orange's spray.


Now, I lay in bed

conjuring up citrus days

once sweet and sour.

Looking down at my hands, lines

defined more than ever,

jaundiced from sickness -- I

realize that maybe

I should have taken more Vitamin-C.


This poem is about: 
My community
Our world


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