A Christmas orange

A Christmas orange

An orange is on a December table

The Sun from the French window

Has come with a birthday card,

From my daughter, on my 102^nd birthday;

I was born on a Sunday at 10 a.m. on the 25^th,

My parents were happy to call me Lady Christ I recall

The Sun now is comforting a big balcony

Where I sit looking focused at the fresh glowing orange.

…

Dear Mom, Me, Marta, Stephane, Kurt, Dave, John

We miss you. My second granddaughter, Lucille says

A big hello, thank you, and same to you on your birthday

When she’ll also be two, like you! Love you.

…

The halo around the orange is a little less than soft,

But the warmth has become more charming.

Much like Dorothy, Smith, and other inmates of this stable, moving graveyard;

I hear faintly the morning news of war and other familiar developments,

It’s strange they want to die at an age they should live.

The TV howls a ‘we shall overcome’ song

Not sung, but played around, and known as background music.

As I start peeling the orange; the smell of the juice

Pours into my fragile and outlived hands all its freshness!

When apples have become hard for me,

This belladonna warms up my overestimated life.

Something tells me I will surely get another card very soon,

Another orange in the midst of the morning sun on my veranda

May be tomorrow!

My maids tell me that every day is Christmas for me!

10 December 2014