A small slice in the fruit
A foothold for my thumbnail
To softly peel skin from flesh
An aromatic spray of oil
Catches the light
Digging under the navel
Prying until the central strand of pith
Pops
Resonating into the fruity sphere
Careful progress preserves
The rind as a ribbon
A sweet-smelling cloak
Rumpled on the counter
The tidy flesh
Ready-made slices
For easy and unhurried eating
Come apart by design
The sweet flavor blooms
With each passing bite
Is the divided fruit and cast-off peel
Still an orange
Or was it ever one at all