Citrus Tree

it grew on the side of the piss smelling road-
the pummelo tree.
your neighborhood filled with the intoxicating smell
it clung to your tonsils- could be sensed by your guts.
it covered the fetor of car exhaust, the urine, the neighbor’s waste
(or at least masked it in some way.)

redolent flowers fell away
you waited, watching
small little fruits grew through the heat
their ovaries developing seeds and pith
Taught, pore-filled skin expanding
not ripe, not ripe, and still green

the skin changed, and you waited
a beaconing color to appear
(anything not green)

beneath the tree,
(one day as you were coming)
was a yellow fruit- fallen
and there, with remembrance of evocative smells
(and a sign of ripeness)
you reached up, pulled the fruit
the branch bent under pressure
the stem, holding, reluctant to give

still so sweetly acidulated,
the skin easily pulled away
thick, discarded on the ground
and to your lips, the sections of ovary met
not yet as sweet as they could have been
but eaten with great satisfaction

but the pummelo tree had so many fruit
and the pummelo tree knew that they would be ripe soon
so it forgot the one stolen part
the one torn from its branches
and the tree just stood,
deciding to mature more of its seeds
for future consumption and growth