ANJANA BASU

Orange Stein

An orange is an orange is a mandarin is a tangerine
Is a nimbu making sour faces
Sharp as a knife sliced
Teeth set on edge on a wall, salted
With an edge of cut glass and a slide of pepper
To sandpaper the sun on with a sliver of saliva,
Squeezed nervously spits seeds in self-defense
Like a blood moon like a sun like glass sliced
THE DAY HE CAME BACK
He looks half-eyed between clients and papers
And asks your news
And immediately answering you begin
To tally your welcome or its lack
No smile, those round shelled eyes and empty voice
No directions of joy after a week of loss
So, casually, the ball bounces back to court
And, afterwards, quietly on your knees somewhere
You cry
Wondering what happened in a week
To a month of carefully gathered hopes.