Rusted Tires Under Mango Trees
Colliding under leaves of fruit,
the chains of steel speak of a sluggish slime.
Once a shined, glossy coat of smooth rubber,
now a dimmed dusty ring sways sleepily.
The laughter and screams of being swung round and round
now leave only a homey hum.
The yellow stars weigh the trunk down,
casting a frown in the arms of town,
almost gracing the hoop with its surplus, ready to be picked.
The sugary sweetness coats my hands,
leaving only the peels.
Still now with sunny summer air lounging languishly,
I hang on the swing grasping a mango,
touching the now-rusted metals,
cobwebs taking refuge in the donut hole,
reviving the memories of my old home.
Rosaline Chen ‘28
I was inspired by the prompt: think of a special place you keep in your heart. The tire swing under my mango tree captures so many memories from my back yard, and I cherish it very much because I remember swinging on the tire with my family, hitting my head on the trunk, and eating the sweet, sugary mangoes. I want to convey that although nostalgic things can seem old and forgotten, we can still cherish them and think of old happy times!
The Orange Tree
Pick the ripe orange from the old tree
Wrap it carefully in the cloth of your shirt
and savor this sweet gift gently.
Let the juice run down free
over remainders of soft dirt,
where you pick the ripe orange from the old tree.
It’s not something you could ever foresee—
a beauty in your mind’s desert.
You promise to savor this sweet gift gently,
but soon your arms will feel that heavy
and realize that what’s coming back is hurt,
here to pick the ripe orange from the old tree.
You’ll let the fruit sit out as debris
for peckish flies to tear the rotting peel apart.
They will savor this sweet gift, but not gently.
Still, don’t let yourself forget that you planted love first.
Pick the ripe orange from the old tree,
and though you will forget, savor this sweet gift gently
I wrote this poem when learning about villanelles in my creative writing class. I often find myself inspired by fruit when painting, so I decided to write a short piece about one of my favorites, oranges. In a way, I see this poem as an ode to all the fruits I let go bad because of forgetting about them in the hopes of "savoring the sweetness" for the right time. I also see this as a bit of a metaphor for loving something until you eventually let it go over time, leaving it to rot.