Gingerbread House Lit Mag

Captive Fruit

One plump orange, enclosed in thick amphibian skin,
Requires three days’ dark patience
To release its flavorful peak.
Peppery spots fleck another,
Like it rolled across an island’s black sand beach,
Or was blasted by a sneeze from a small sniffling dragon—
The same clawed beast, no doubt, that bruised yesterday’s banana
And left it split to the flesh, fashionably naked
On the red polyester rug before the kitchen sink.

Christina E. Petrides

Christina E. Petrides is an expatriate American living and working on a small volcanic island in the Pacific Ocean. There, the palm trees and the magpies are imported, but the rice wine is indigenous and delicious. She breathes too much of the notorious “fine dust” (an industrial, not intoxicating, concoction) and spend too little time at the gym.


Artwork: Pierre-Auguste Renoir, Still Life with Orange and Sugar Bowl, public domain
This entry was published on March 31, 2020 at 12:01 am and is filed under 41 (March 2020), Archive, Poetry. Bookmark the permalink. Follow any comments here with the RSS feed for this post.
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