Flesh Orange

 Flesh Orange, April 2023. Buenos Aires, Arg. 

You never are where you should be, I often think to myself that love might come off as selfish; You’re always handling soft and round oranges. 

I think deep down in your core you search for tenderness. 

There’s an orange tree that thrives off of sunlight and car honkings and bird singing a few blocks away from your home. If it is your home. If it is the place I've seen. Sometimes when you cross that door from the inside it’s life you’re living, and when you cross that door from the outside you’re having a chat with me.

The citrus plant you often pass by dropped an orange and now you’re handling it.

I found the fruit at night but knew you’d like some tomorrow, therefore I didn’t eat it myself.

You’re always on food but you often forget to feed yourself, that, i’ve seen i’ve felt you’ve told. 

So this past minute I gave you the orange, you started ripping it apart. 

The tissue of it bleeds as your nails carve into it, and the mellow and almost red juice starts coming out. 

(...Entonces, en este último minuto que te di la naranja, empezaste a desgarrarla.

El tejido sangra a medida que tus uñas escarban, y el jugo dulce y casi rojo comienza a desparramarse…)

It reminds me that you’re carving skin and that skin belongs to a fruit who belongs to a tree who belongs to the ground, who is alive.

It is very much alive.

And the flesh you opened and carved with your hands starts merging with the color of your skin, red dripping from your fingers, and I still don’t know if it was the flushed orange or your hands that melted so quickly. 

(...Y la carne que abriste y tallaste con tus manos empieza a amoldarse al color de tu piel, rojo gotea de tus dedos, y todavía no sé si fue la naranja o tus manos que se derritieron tan rápido…)

your skin never looked so warm so inviting so resembling of my home. 

(...Tu piel nunca se vió tan tibia tan tentadora, tan parecida a mi casa…)

Now that you have your hands damped with orange juice and you still have that mangled fruit on your hand, I open the door to your house and get inside. 

You greet me, and I go to your kitchen in hopes of finding fruit or some beverage to quench my thirst. 

With the passing time and the persistent atmosphere, I realize I’ve been turning round and soft. 

Your face looks distorted and your skin could burn if exposed to the sunlight that lives outside.

 (...Tu cara se ve extraña y tu piel se podría quemar si te tendiera al sol que vive afuera...)

Suddenly I can’t figure out which one of us is me when we look at each other. 

You don’t go out, I just came in. 

(...No te vas, yo recién llego…)

L.