7. An Audience of Oranges
NARRATOR:
‘An Audience of Oranges,’ a.k.a. ‘Critic’s Circle’ by Adult competition winner Katharine Kavanagh.
Waiting in the wings
the sweet triffids,
potted critics,
surround the scene, ready
to pass judgement.
The fidgety restlessness
that comes from fur, feather and feet
is held
in awe.
An awe-dience.
Who will be victorious
in this battle of wills
and Stillness?
For there, facing down his foes,
the lone stone owns the stage.
The rows of green,
neatly trimmed and pruned,
uniform and proper,
rustle gently in the breeze,
but maintain their composure.
‘His poise is good,’
‘Elegant.’
Hushed, like the slow stroke
of sleepy summer butterflies,
the tension of this Act
leaks softly through the air
with the scent of oranges.
‘It can’t last,’
‘He has to crack,’
‘All alone out there,’
‘And we are many,’
‘Many,’
‘Many,’
‘We are populous.’
The rings would close in
if they could.
‘We will stand here,’
‘We will watch,’
‘We will wait,’
‘We are many,’
‘Many,’
‘Many,’
‘He is one.’
‘Our fruit has been a theatrical fixture since the days of Seneca and his orangeries in Rome,’
‘Since the celebrated Shakespeare plied the globe with his trade,’
‘Succulent and sweet, we are never hard, never bitter’
‘Never bitter,’
‘Never ever bitter,’
But the stone is unmoved, uncaring for common wares.
There are no snarling, mauling beasts here, only time, and his own reflection.
He can bear their frosty reception,
and the chill of winter
that sees his small, shrubby censurers trooped
(and trapped)
inside for the season.
He can endure it still.