Fairyflies are the smallest flying insects
Jordan Deveraux and are invisible to most people without a microscope. I find it’s good to start a poem like this one does with a fact, then move toward mystery or an unsolved act of charity, like the bag of oranges we once discovered in the backseat of her car. It happened, we thought, while we waited inside my parents’ house for the Volvo to heat up & its windshield to emerge from the cocoon of ice it had grown overnight. It was Christmas morning, and so we guessed it was the next-door neighbor Jeff, who must have crept across the driveway, opened the back door and dropped in the gift of oranges like stolen gold. It was like one of those holiday commercials in which a good deed is done anonymously, but by the end the viewer knows Coca-Cola or Chevron was behind the whole thing. In the suburbs these things can happen in real life. So you can imagine our disappointment when we found out it wasn’t Jeff but my mother, or rather it was we, my girlfriend and I, who forgot about them, that little bag clementines among the long list of groceries my mother asked us to pick up a couple days before, hidden yet not in the detritus of backseats. Embarrassed by the fact of our ordinary fruit, we then did what any true believers would: we threw out the torn, frosty peels and wiped the evidence from our chins. |
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About the Author:
Jordan Deveraux currently resides in Minnesota, where he is the managing editor for Blue Earth Review. When he’s not doing poetry, he likes to skateboard and watch movies. This is his first publication.
Jordan Deveraux currently resides in Minnesota, where he is the managing editor for Blue Earth Review. When he’s not doing poetry, he likes to skateboard and watch movies. This is his first publication.