In Duas Barras

you twist an orange away from its branch.
peel it with a pocketknife. the rind comes out
in one chunk you toss out the car window.

citrus-scented silence is how i think
to ask you to stay this time.
let us drive through muddy terrain

until you become Papai again. i want to see you
through honey-colored eyes like Kaká.
we’ll drive through orange blossoms in the spring

for long enough to forget what Mamãe said
about you. erase Regina and are you coming back?
and silence

so i only have to grieve once this time.
maybe if we keep winding through these hills
i’ll start to recognize them.

i’ll start to recognize you again
as if i didn’t remember the feeling
of absence and the way we both knew

that this was silent goodbye. real goodbye.
pang-in-our-stomachs, teary-eyed goodbye.

and we’ll let silence smell like citrus again.

By Caro De Sa