the orange treei.the orange tree
you liked to recount stories of my childhood of days spent under apple trees in the fall-coloured forest of orange popsicles melting in the summer sun and the juices dripping down my chin into your wife’s garden
once, i asked you why and you said that you thought they were our happiest times together
i told you i didn’t remember them
iii.
people said you read me too many bedtime stories of electric hands and pens with no ink of crowns made of keys in emerald glades and little girls who neve
