How An Orange Killed Nancy Glique Poem by Erwin Maramat

If I had dropped off the oranges to Mrs. Glique's house like my momma told me to, she will still be alive today.

If I did, she'll indulge in rambling about her taffeta.

Breathing,

through the grace of chance

through honeyed afternoon that deserved a tea

through a looking glass

that saw love in a different light.

In the evenings, Mrs. Glique sauntered along memories past and her garden of stars where she threw her arms in the cold air to stroke the face of the moon.

Thinking of her dear Tangerine who behind bars wore orange.

Orange now taste differently unlike yesterday

for orange meant to stretch her lips to touch the tips of her cheeks from side to side,

that's what the scent did for her.

Thinking of her darling Tangerine whose life is in ruins, her once-a-time princess knows now how to steal and steal she did, lives in fact.

Mrs. Glique would have been out her trance and instead found a noose to her new romance.

—Erwin D. Maramat