Shriveled Orange Peels
Do my open window panes betray too much light
by Anusha Sreekant
And fragrance into your lawn?
Does the blurred ink on the yellowing pages
Of my old leather clad diary burn too bright in your fireplace?
Do twigs from my memory crackle too loud
In your winter bonfire?
Does this cast of wax bother to melt too much
In your empty dark room?
Are you scared it might love you more
Than it could ever love itself?
But it chooses to lie aside like the shriveled orange peels
Fragrant enough for your bedside candle flame
Dry enough for you fireplace
Small enough to set up your bonfire
And soft enough to still love you against all.