An Acre of Orange Grove~ By Rollie Emerson

Here at Life's end, nature's
temptations, quite so,
have grown numb
 
numb as my big toes,
worn too many shoes
in leathered seasons long
 
walked too many miles
along the circle of this worn track,
boots rubbing left ankle to the quick
 
neither imagination on the run
nor the mind milling,
grinding its last cache of corn
 
sharpening a rusty blade
on the stone, looking back to the grove
 
peeling an orange all the way
around to insure the whole of globes is done
 
what can make the rights
and wrongs of truth better known
than a cruel day in the sun?
 
pictures and paints remain
of an acre of an orange grove
edged with raw, mowed grass,
I inhale.
 
one more time around the acre,
exercise of the creaky legs.
 
inhale the twilight air,
lick the dew from the pores
of the rind of the orange
soon to fall back to earth
 
but still color orange as they spin
like a top inside a larger globe
 
this is my day of time under
my crossing moon--
the night will not be long,
sleepless with dreams,
 
stumbling through my second world,
just as confusing as the first
 
and the cruel heat of tropical midday,
at least survived as the sun burned
the roots and demanded
more juice from the sea inside the rind.
 
Hear me out: walk with me
grant me an old man's rant,
I am not the loquacious kind,
 
Let's stride until I find that empty place
wide enough to draw the line in the sand
beyond where not even Lear would have
stumbled on.

​
Author Bio:
Rollie Emerson teaches TESL English in Japan and is recently at Chiang Mai University in Northern Thailand. ​