The Orchard
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I share a secret with the boy next door:
We meet in the orchard, sharing stolen glances and oranges.
The juice drips down our forearms, fingers and lips sticky with it.
Here in the orchard we are kings, and we wear our citrus crowns.
We let our fingers touch when we sit on the cobble wall
And imagine them entwined, courageous.
When his father beats him black and blue for the crime of being himself,
I sit with him in naked silence.
At night above the shallow town we share a kiss
Sweet and sticky, stained with the nectar of the gods.
When they find his body in June I don’t go to the funeral
Instead I find myself in the quiet orchard
And in the darkness I pray at the altar of his love.
About the Creator
Ash Taylor
Lover of fantasy and all things whimsical. Currently studying Writing and Publishing at UNE in Armidale, Australia. Living on Anaiwan land.
he/him
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Comments (1)
Thank you for sharing your beautiful and poignant piece, Ash. Your use of imagery and sensory language really brings the orchard to life, and your portrayal of forbidden love is heart-wrenching. I appreciate the vulnerability and depth you bring to your writing. Keep up the great work!