Blue Oranges

The first time I walked with a girl, I was twelve,
cold, and weighted down, with two oranges in my jacket.
December. Frost cracking, beneath my steps, my breath
before me, and then gone, As I walked toward
Her house, the one whose, Porch light burned yellow
Night and day, in any weather. A dog barked at me, until
She came out pulling, At her gloves, face bright
With rouge. I smiled, touched her shoulder, and led
her down the street, across, a used car lot and a line
Of newly planted trees, Until we were breathing
Before a drugstore. We entered, the tiny bell
bringing a saleslady, Down a narrow aisle of goods.
I turned to the candies, Tiered like bleachers,
And asked what she wanted Light in her eyes, a smile
Starting at the corners, Of her mouth. I fingered
A nickel in my pocket, And when she lifted a chocolate
That cost a dime, I didn’t say anything.
I took the nickel from My pocket, then an orange,
And set them quietly on The counter. When I looked up,
The lady’s eyes met mine, And held them, knowing
Very well what it was all About. Outside,
A few cars hissing past, Fog hanging like old
Coats between the trees. I took my girl’s hand
in mine for two blocks, and then released it to let
her unwrap the chocolate. I peeled my orange
that was so bright against the gray of December
that, from some distance, someone might have thought
I was making a fire in my hands.