Wren Donovan

Orange Often

Orange is often my least favorite color. 

Monarch stripes of the tigers
that stalk through my dreams in tall grass.
Orange of sunsets, of course, and bright citrus
and volunteer lilies that bloom in the ditches in June. 

I would eat oranges while watching TV,
when Mama was out and I was fourteen.
Orange and green I read once are the colors of fathers
in crayon mandalas. Some birds are orange and some cats 

and more flowers
and sandstone in canyons in afternoon light. 

I wore a bright orange tank top that summer.
Mama shamed me for nipples, for lack of a bra.
Veiny sections of fruit dyed my fingers.
Orange freezer pops painted my tongue. 

Peaches and pumpkins and goldfish.
Caution cones on the highway, orange jackets
for hunters. Foxes with sharp tips
and clay pots and coral in silver. 

I don’t want these stains on my fingernails,
carotene, absence, and rust.

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Wren Donovan lives in Tennessee. She studied at Millsaps College, UNC-Chapel Hill and University of Southern Mississippi. When not writing, she reads Tarot cards and history books and fairy tales. Her poetry can be found in Orca, Poetry South, Cumberland River Review, Yellow Arrow, Ink Drinkers, Harpy Hybrid Review and elsewhere in print and online including WrenDonovan.com.