Oranges
The bell would ring,
Snack time!, it called
The teacher would pack her books with a sigh
My friends would squeal, chittering, metals chairs scraping against linoleum
They would all rush to piled biscuits in the corridor, sickly sweet
But not you
Head down, lips pursed, you would shuffle to my doodled-on desk
And I would reach into my bookbag
Pull out an orange for us
Carefully peeled, curls of skin dropping with its summer smell
You held out your hand, cupped, eyes wide
A silent ask, to which I obliged.
Slices pulled from between the fiber spiderwebs, soft and bursting
One by one, we would eat them all
Tang and juice squelching between our teeth
A dried peel the only remnant of our time together.
