Orange
There are two ways to eat an orange.
The first
Is not a meal,
But a presentation:
Carefully
slicing and creating
perfect geometry
perfect symmetry.
It looks good on a plate,
And an oral system could easily divide
The necessary sweetness
From the bitter waste.
The second is messy.
It involves your fingernails,
Backed by mystery muscles
Plowing through a tough exterior
To finally peek
At some luscious incarnation
(If you regularly chew on your cuticles, they will be burning).
You begin to see not just a fruit,
But a story,
Of germination,
Of carried determination,
Of fortified veins,
Of hidden slices in miniature,
(Tucked away in the safe haven of a congruous curve).
It is hard to deviate from one section or another.
Juice runs screaming down your forearm.
A once perfectly shaped sphere becomes a mere shell,
A porous abstraction of its past.
yeah, okay. i miss having rad songs written about me.
Ryan Freitas: 35 Lessons in 35 Years →
My father always told me that the day we stop learning is the day we die. I wrote this as a sort of preparation for my 35th birthday last week. Some of these are poignant, others are simply trite; I attribute the latter to my growing sense of sentimentality as I age. That, and I need an editor.
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autumn wedding
a beautiful october wedding i created flowers for, shot in and around the san jose and mercury hall by the lovely and generous cj and jennifer nichols.
hill country dinner party
ladies and gentlemen, the peonies are here.
