Two oranges on the Christmas table:

one for my cousin and one for me.

No fancy Christmas tree,

just few branches of evergreens 

dipped in a bucket

decorated with paper garlands made by me.

My orange, I used to peel slowly

enjoying the specks of aroma lending on my skin.

I separated the pieces with their glowing color,

still in their natural wrap. I spared

and arranged them one by one

like a flower rosette on my plate.

Mom and dad thought I was playing,

but not. I was not. No, no, no!

I was thankful for what I‘ve got

in this Holly Night. At least for a while

I could dream and forget the poor life,

in which I was raised.  I will never forget the taste,

of this juice floating in my mouth, 

tickling my tongue.

I ate slowly, picking up from the orange rosette

piece after piece, piece after piece... 

Now, I’m an adult growing three orange trees

in my front yard.

By Petrouchka Alexieva

From: United States