【by Reese San Diego】

in the right light,
I’m sipping sugary milk
from an empty cereal bowl
watching cartoon animals dance
and solve mysteries and make friends.
my youngest sister squints at bright orange sun,
the kind you can’t block
without your arm
getting tired
too quickly.

there will be fire in the sky tonight,
great big bursts of sparkling color.
we’ll run around till our feet
and matching white shirts
are grass-stained,
red, white, blue, and green.
in the kitchen, my mother pours sugar
over strawberries, burning bright red.
they smell like the ones we stuff into
slippery plastic bags
in the candy store in the mall,
something so sweet
it’s like we’ve never tasted
anything sour in our lives.

in the right light,
I’m laughing till my chest hurts,
the dishwasher whirring in the background.
I’m rubbing orange peels between my palms
and sniffing my hands, thinking
I wish they always smelled like this.
my sisters do the same.
my father doesn’t mind that we stole
the oranges he cut for himself.

I think they taste best in the winter,
when the sun has set early
and I can see my family sharing them
in the reflection of the window.


they glisten in the light that hangs
above the kitchen table
like sun on choppy water.

it’s yellow
and warm,
so bright
I can see every edge.