ORCHARD JAUNT

when i was young, summer would undress herself

before me, little lemon peel on salted tongue, and i mimed

her tang, her bitterness, to boys who wanted sweet. bare feet 

and long haired, oh flowers, oh camelia, snapdragons biting

at my long skirts, oh puff of california poppy! how i sprang

to meet these fools, no better than dogs, who slurped the drool

from their funny mustachioed mouths, who offered me their lips,

hands, who promised nothing at the fear they could not perform,

and i wanted nothing anyway, nothing more than their begging 

mouths, and i kissed them red til their mothers came home,

and i left the way i came, lilt of california gold on my skin,

bounding and unabashed, giving nothing to anyone except 

to Summer, our clandestine promise to ripe fruit flesh, the innocuous 

vibration of birds in the fields, how they tore the peaches from their trees,

all the while i felt the world's trepidation humming in the air

like impending, toothy arrows, all pointed at me