My mother told
how the smell of an orange
at Christmas
delighted her
so rare there in the snow
when America was poorer
but really
there were many oranges
somewhere else
a not uncommon fruit
or fragrance
(matter out of place)
her daughter
accustomed now
to avocados
passion fruit
cannot name their season
Both
plentitudes
entering
memory
become
canticles
to presumption
I also sing an ode to
the unused,
an obsolete
Transistor radio
held to my ear
once indispensable
I recall
isn't
necessary at all
or a beloved object
repurposed
that
At ten
you jumped with
at seventy
used
to tie the terrace bench to the wall
against the winds
you know are coming
