Search Suzanne Crone


Peeling an Orange

Posted in Poetry

Peeling an Orange

It wasn’t the hour and a quarter that I spent waiting;

I didn’t mind.

Things happen!

I cleaned my sink, put out a fresh towel,

Picked up some nice feast foods at the market

In case you got around to responding, and

You were all going to stay for dinner;

I didn’t wait and do nothing, instead

Imagined the best outcome and planned for that.

The sun is never late–rises and sets as we expect,

As if it’s on our schedule.

That’s so like us humans, to enslave our world so we can feel better.

We know we’re not the centre of things, but that’s easy to forget;

Perhaps, “the earth spinning for perusal of the sun,” might change our perspective,


Still, here on the dirt surface,

Flowers bloom,

Calves are born,

Cakes rise in the oven,

All within reasonable parameters.
Did I mention the flowers that I bought for the table?

Oh, I adore them always, so,

A win to have some just for myself!
I remember years back,

Waiting for you in a restaurant, with a friend.

It was surprising to have that extra hour to wait,

Unplanned, during which to talk,

And wonder.

There was a craft store nearby, and

If we had known our leisure, my friend and I

Could have bought clay,

Recreated some historical battle,

On the table–

Condiments involved, and


While we waited for you to show up.

Time is key in battle;

A soldier lagging his flank because he’s

Focused on peeling an orange,

Is less popular.
And ‘lagging’ itself, a musical term–

When a note is played on the late end of the beat.
A good band leader can point this out, and

Spare the audience the irritation,

But you and I are on our own,

Here on the ground,

Spinning without a band leader,

Without even a pickle as battle commander;

Just our consideration,

Our love for each other to depend on.
You keep mentioning ‘love,’

In person, and in messages–

Adding the bedazzling heart emoji

In text, after text, after text.
The thing is,

You could win the whole battle,

Save the music,

By merely being present and, 

Instead of offering nothing, 

Hollering a sincere, 


 My flowers would smell sweeter.