Orange Peel
by Erica Gillingham
14/03/2020
Against the café’s formica table top,
you spread out your fingertips, press
your palms to its beige surface, asking
me to imagine an array of orange peel
pieces standing in for tectonic plates,
a classroom exercise once used to explain
the layers of the earth’s composition.
I listen with an attentive strained focus,
an unexpected flush rising in my belly
like a convection current of magma;
conjure the sweet smell of orange oil
on your fingers, the soft edges of pith,
aching for my pale skin to be the mantle
underneath the fault lines of your hands.