Never again will you do this:
peel an orange, its rind coming away
in ragged, cloth-lined cups. The globe beneath the skin
mapped out with white degrees of longitude.
Never again will you, as we must, separate
the small purses, fat and filled,
or spit out the seeds that swim there
like tiny round fish with flattened tails.
You will never again lift your fingers
to breathe their citrus scent.
This world, this whole
world has gone from you,
as you have suddenly gone from us
leaving a linger of fragrance.
A bright thing, spent.
Published online April 01 2013.
Alice Major has published nine highly praised poetry collections, three of which have been shortlisted for the Pat Lowther award (which she won in 2009). Her most recent book is a collection of essays on poetry and science, for which she received the Wilfred Eggleston award from the Writers Guild of Alberta and a national magazine award. She served as the first poet laureate for the city of Edmonton and is founder of the Edmonton Poetry Festival.