Orange Groves

Greasy napkins, soiled tablecloths,

Smeared peanut butter and desiccated orange rinds

Notebooks full of pencil drawings,

One scribble per leaflet,

Forgotten toys

Crumpled underwear and

Dirty socks

This is the stuff of childhood.

My front yard is littered with

Scenes from yesterday’s game of war

Styrofoam nerf bullets

Dangle from branches

A tiara with a missing gem lays glinting in the

Morning sun

The children are at school now

Tucked into their little desks crammed

With pencil erasers shaped like clowns and

Books whose pretty covers are worn and faded

Lucca scribbles frantically at his handwriting

Waiting for recess, whispering to his friends

With a loud, shrill voice

The teacher shoots him a dirty look

I tap away at my keyboard

In my own little office

Working furiously to catch up with yesterday’s paperwork

Racing the school bell that will point

My car north

Up the Valley

Orange groves blurring past my window

In a riot of deep green and blushing persimmon

Like a Gaugin painting

The children step from the trees with their backpacks and lunchboxes

Saying, “Please, Momma, please….

Can’t Max and I have a playdate?”