Sunday, 2 July 2006

Breakfast by Anna Piutti

Seven a.m.:

High above the roofs,
the frost-lacquered
crane branch
holds a
plump, radiant
orange.

Hungry for warmth,
I grasp the vital
sphere and
slice it
into thick
wedges.

A paper towel on my lap, I
sink my teeth
into the morning glow:

calm,
juicy.

Sweetly sour.

Anna Piutti, Vicenza, Italy

3 comments:

Juliet Wilson said...

This is a very atmospheric poem - you can almost taste that orange!

jim said...

I enjoyed the Orange, and your company as we dined together. Very nice Poem.

Nia said...

I love small poems about small things :)