A poem, dedicated to my grandmother.
A Clementine orange is a wonderful thing,
Best peeled in one great, big spiralling ring.
My grandmother taught me, sometime long ago,
The technique required to peel them so.
Each time I peel one, I have happily found,
I remember my Grandma as the skin is unwound.
A soft flannel bulge, in a red stocking’s heel,
Heralds my traditional Christmas-dawn meal.
Foretelling that, in the grocery store din,
The boxes, their sweet little oranges within,
Like candy cane ice cream, can brighten my smile,
And I know then and there that in not long a while,
Come Christmas again, it will all be revealed,
As I sit with my Grandma, our Clementines peeled.
(c) Dec. 2, 2008, Matthew Matheson
Duration : 0:1:14
[youtube a3eyJ2rGQLI]