Even if it weren’t my job
I’d tell you how the taste of an orange
just plucked from the vine
can be analyzed with patience
for the you who usually speaks,

that you can then extrapolate
new life from the tip of your tongue
just like green dripping the sky
into orange.

I’d tell you how the vows
to whomever you end up loving
could have fewer words than a snowfall
but carry more weight, how

when you can’t help
but sit and write about it
to not go find someone else first
with your sweaty palms held open
like a beggar admitting
that you’re as lost as an orphan
being renamed,

but to pick your own clouds
like ripened strawberries.

I’d tell you of a sunset I’ve kept
hanging as a canvas in the living room
of my soul filled to the edges
with the smiles of my grandparents and I
after years apart
and the tears which fell
a moment after goodbye,

each brushstroke painted
with the same shades of love—

and after all of it
you still will walk
where only you can.

Brandon C. Spalletta’s poetry has been published in Maryland Literary Review, WWPH Writes, and Bourgeon. His poem “Daydreaming” recently received an Honorable Mention for the 2023 Luce Prize, and newer poetry is forthcoming in Gargoyle Online, Elysium Review, and Dodging the Rain. At twelve years old he stood atop Old Rag Mountain and his heart never came down.