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In the Rue Family
"Knowledge" is a fair rhyme for "orange" (the fruit),
though it's evident that very few people
have noticed this, despite rather obvious
connections between justified true belief
and the vivid pigments of a citrus rind.
("Orange" is also the name of a color,
the color of an orange, but superficial
qualities sound forced, too astringent, when rhymed.)
Limes are weak sisters of cousins once-removed,
whose continued existence is largely due
to their perceived necessity in mixed drinks
where one would never think to use a lemon.
But here's the thing: What became of the kind fruit,
by fingers of little children easily
peeled, called tangerines? And what ever happened
to that sad Nazarene still bickered over?
Be grateful for grapefruit -- the bittersweet flesh
sings volumes, from the G clef of plain English.
Leaven
There's nothing unspecial
about a pale day when
happening just happens
to fail, or so precious
as a memory napping
in the blurred grayish space
below a train of word
moving at a snail's pace.
There isn't a thing wrong
with lying low inside
the new wing of a house
worth dying in, so long
as turf wars don't arouse
a thousand proud birth scars.
The sky's more likable
when blue and eyeballed through
warm air. Triticale
is rye wedded to wheat,
and barley's sweetest once
it's turned to ale. What most
affronts us, cheers us least,
is daily bread we eat
that spurned the dear damp yeast
and then burned to dry toast.
C.B. Anderson, a resident of eastern Massachusetts, was the longtime gardener for the PBS
television series, The Victory Garden. Some of his poems have recently appeared in Blue Unicorn,
Soundzine, nthposition, Nassau Review, and Light. His e-chapbook, A Walk in the Dark, is posted on
the website of The New Formalist Press.
Email: C.B. Anderson
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