I ate the kumquats and the clementines
and saved the seeds instead of throwing them
away. I’d hoped I’d get a couple trees.
Instead, from forty-seven seeds, I now
have forty-seven trees. I know. I know
the arguments. The fruit the trees produce
will not be any good, and even if
it is I’m still an idiot because
I will be in my eighties or be dead
before my seedlings give me any fruit.
And I agree. They’re right of course, and wrong.
My little three-inch trees are blossoming
already and there isn’t any need
to wait for years before the fruit is ripe.
It’s ripe right now. I eat a kumquat,
It’s orange and warm and glowing in the sun.
The juice and pulp are bitter, tart; and eat
a clementine and throw away the seeds
instead of saving them and planting them.
I have my trees already. I don’t need
to grow another grove of citrus. Now
I’m ten again and once again I’ve lost
the sense of time and space while I explore.
The world is green with mud, and elephants
are hiding in the weeds, and dinosaurs
are waiting for me right behind a tree.