The girl splits an orange skin with her fingernail
breaking the rind in pieces as she goes –
slowly the globe emerges. It sheds its clothes
of glowing ember on the ground, grandly.
She scatters them around, caring less
to rid herself of its thick, unwanted flesh
than to surround herself
with brightly fallen snow.
*
Her own flower girl, she strews
her train behind her as she walks. She paves
a trail of brilliant cobbles, fallen from her hand,
and weaves a scented nest. In this, she stops and stands
and eats each segment slowly,
piece by separate piece.
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