Portokalia

“out of nothing I have created a strange new universe” – János Bolyai

We were left an orange,
sunset-blotted,
not the golden apple
we forgot.

We were left a portokalia,
when we stopped seeing,
piles of leaves
and mounds of mud
gathered around the garden
under our feet.

We were left lost links –

In the west, few eagles fly
above the branches
where perhaps a portocala
hangs before it sinks
into a pattern indistinct,
in meanings.

I’d like to see inside its seeds like
the ants so long crawling
on its peel, side by side in search of pulps.

They think their trails unparalleled –
yet few have seen the
seeds before their scatter
by winds from other lands
or the places where they meet – after,
beneath another shell
of earth.

Envoi:
If ever, you do, please tell-
tell of unseen insides
of faces unmarked,
how the world waits
upon new turns,
   dawning in
another face of golden.∎

Words by Bianca Pasca. Art by Eloïse Fabre.