The winter she was thirsty
oranges cut the paste in her mouth.
Digging fingernails into the rind,
peeling slices from the bitter white,
sucking juice.

It rained and it snowed and rained again.
The oil left fragrance on her fingers.
She was still thirsty.

Tides were higher.
Waves chipped at the land.
Fruit rotted on the tree.
She drank water but it didn't penetrate.
She was thirsty and there were no oranges.