Stanzas: Monthly Chapbooks December 2014: Winter | Page 17

The Citrus Tree
Matthew Moynihan
Last night, as darkness bruised the Melbourne sky,
I took a stroll and came to rest beneath a citrus tree.
A curious orange fell from the tree's paternal grasp
and I, taking it as a sign, bit into its toxic flesh.
The bitterness!
Oh, the bitterness
of that deceitful, hazardous fruit,
How it mirrored the acidity of my soul.
I bore no sweet oranges.
As dark clouds enveloped my skyline,
Hydrochloric Acid rose from the pit of my stomach
and reposed within the chambers
of my tainted heart.
I felt as though I was entering
the winter of my life,
and that this internal malaise
was the final snowflake to land upon my icy path.
Yet while I sat there wallowing,
a chrystalline butterfly flew past my eyes.
Its beauty and its clear eye compelled me
to see the world in a different vein.
I must fight for those sweet oranges.
I must fight for the brightness.
I must fight for love, for passion, for fraternity.
And in fighting, I must never forget
the painful bitterness of wallowing.
This is the spring of my life.

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