the grove

oranges in the palm of my hand,
plucked cold, the ice seeping
down my arms. unplanned,
they quartered, condensation pearling.

you, eyes hung twin moons, Ganymede, Callisto, spanned
the expanse, watching. later,
i would tell you that the land
took to our sorrow like a mother tongue,
bore bright fruit, wedges of sun.

the citrus trees
stretched like a strand
of sea, frigid & immobile, nothing to condense
the frost.

Ivi Hua is a teen Asian American writer, dreamer, and poet. A Best of the Net nominee, her work has been published in [sub]liminal and Juvenm among others. She believes in the enduring nature of love and hope within humanity, especially on sunny days. You can find her on Instagram: @livia.writes.stories.

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