I turn its orange roundness between thumb and forefinger out there in the sun. Tiny points of darker color mark oil glands in the smooth surface of its skin. A slightly flattened top with a white center shows where I pulled it off the tree, and a speck of black at the bottom is left where the flower must once have been. A few brownish lines mar its perfection – some minor impact during development. Already my mouth waters and …
Tag: Orange
“The Fourth of October, T’en Souvient-il?” * Poetry * John Jack Jackie (Edward) Cooper
Amazing the ruin, the stupor of the misbegotten, fervor of memory may assuage: held long indoors, long drying and forgotten, a pinch of spruce confuses — a scent of miracles — overwhelming — brings to mind the sweetly fragrance — tiny, tart and sticky — pungent orange fruit of the Osage tree. I can see it, that tiny orange, feel it in my hand, clinging to my fingers, still perceive the faint glow it cast in my kitchen where it …
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Leopold Bloom Dreams of Kidneys & Sausages & Warm Human Flesh * Excerpt from James Joyce’s ‘Ulysses’
A while back we published “Molly Bloom’s Stream of Consciousness Ends in Flowers & Perfumed Breasts,” the soliloquy which closes the epic modernist tale Ulysses, by James Joyce. It seemed high time then to give some space to her poor cuckholded husband Leopold Bloom who, unlike his wife who prefers toast and cakes, has a taste for “the inner organs of beasts and fowls.” The below section opens the fourth episode, what’s known as the Calypso episode. It is our …
“Magpie Aubade” & Other Poems by Mike Lewis-Beck
Caffè Quattro Cantoni This whish of the espresso machina brings me back to my tiny table and a half-eaten cornetto—limp— its crumbs cascading over the Tribune and La Corriere, barely opened. I should pay at the caisse but it’s crowded. Instead I go over, over Laura, what she just did, what she just said, or not. Laura’s like an orange, sweet smelling and giving to the squeeze, but hard to get into, and once you do the fiber’s fiberous, hard …
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