A Cold House

In my hand, I hold an orange,…

In my hand, I hold an orange,
large, dimpled, a thick skin
that peels with little effort.
I have peeled these many times,
preferring them to the thin-skinned kind
that rip the inner flesh
and leak the juice.

I am wrapped in my sweater,
cold, in a house
that never seems warm to my thin skin.
In a room two rooms away
I hear the laughter of my sons
who are not here
as I make a salad of fresh fruit.

I am an old man in a cold house
peeling bright and thick-skinned oranges
for two sons who laugh
a room or two away.

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Author: makingsenseofcomplications

I have an academic background in literature and, separately, science. My career has been in industry in positions of increasing responsibility assisting in the drug development process - one of the most amazing intellectual pursuits of the human mind, among many other amazing intellectual pursuits. I am interested in films, philosophy, history, art, music, science (obviously), literature (also obviously), some video gaming, human behavior, and many other topics. I wish there was more time in every day because we have a world that is full of amazing phenomena that are considered too superficially by too many. Although my first and last names are fictional, I think I believe in all of the stuff you read here, although I retain the right in perpetuity of changing my thoughts about anything written herein.

4 thoughts on “A Cold House”

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