Consider the winter oranges
Lesley Sharpe
Consider the winter oranges
the crocus-bed is a quivering moon of fire
—Oscar Wilde
how on each fruit this navel like a prescient eye
sees futures in the dark nurtures the rhythms of moonlight
long months that follow summer even in the south
Demeter’s name inked on pale crates shipped from Sicily
a whole winter and I’m still missing you still shaking
snow from my boots buying herbs and winter roots holding
an orange in my palm as if it could stand for something
could tell me like a crocus edging through ice something about
love or survival bring its bright edge to the surface its
etymologies and myths like the quartered peel that falls in fat
crescents shadows the plump fruit pith rough
to the tongue tang as juice bursts to sweeten with sunlight
wild as a girl
April 2025
Winter Fruit
the crocus-bed is a quivering moon of fire
—Oscar Wilde
Demeter’s name is inked on crates of oranges
gifted from Sicily, fruit nurtured in the rhythms
of moonlight, in the moon’s urge to disappear,
slip click shutter-speed quick into darkness.
We are still shaking snow from our boots
in the anthroposophical shop in Kassel,
echt herbs and winter roots laid out and labelled
with the precision of an apothecary’s box.
On each fruit the navel like a prescient eye
sees futures in the dark, shimmers longer
than a crocus edging through ice.
At home, the quartered peel falls
in a fat crescent, its inside pith white
and rough as a lunar curve. Torn
from the plump fruit in a winter place
it holds its shape, leaves a bitter tang
on the tongue as juice bursts to sweeten it
with sunlight, sharp, electric, wild as a girl.
December 2024
Winter Fruit
and the crocus-bed is a quivering moon of fire
—Oscar Wilde
Oranges. Each navel a prescient eye that sees futures
in the dark, shimmers like a crocus edging through ice.
Maybe it’s just time. Maybe it is always a matter of time,
this business of seasons, plump fruits arriving, a winter place.
Bitter tang on the tongue coupled with sweetness, echo
of sunlight that explodes, wild as a girl, deafening.
I’m still shaking snow from my boots, herbs and winter
roots laid out in the shop here in Kassel, when I hear it,
the long wait folded in Demeter’s name, inked on the stacked
crates from Sicily. These are fruit nurtured in the rhythms
of night, the moon’s urge to slip shutter-speed quick into darkness,
into quartered peel that falls in fat crescents, pith white and rough,
a lunar curve. Oranges formed in the urge of a mother who knows
that the smallest of fruits is not to be underestimated, knows
the further south you go, the sooner you will meet Persephone
making her way home. Meanwhile the first harvest travels north
as fast as it can, where the tulips in my kitchen are still tight,
give no hint of dark stamens inside, clamoring always for the light.
December 2023
Process Statement
To begin with, a few images came together—I saw a cluster of orange crocuses coming through snow in our local park, and about the same time came across the Oscar Wilde quote, which became the epigraph. I also had memories of being in Kassel, in Germany, in a particularly cold winter, and seeing the piles of navel oranges in the fruit and vegetable shop. Demeter is the brand name for biodynamically farmed products, whose farmers follow the anthroposophical philosophy of Rudolf Steiner and also farm by the rhythms of the moon. I was also working on a sequence of poems about girlhood, which included some reflections on the Persephone myth. As for the revision process, there were quite a few “darlings” I didn’t want to edit: the German context, the Demeter brand name (and the layering that would give to the myth), ideas of south and north, early and delayed spring, and the extended flower imagery. I workshopped with a group, which helped refine the focus. There were many, many drafts. I think these three particular drafts show how an extended thought can be pared right back, and how certain images and sounds persist to take a new shape.
Lesley Sharpe teaches literature and writing in London. Her poems, reviews, stories and essays have appeared in several journals and anthologies, and have been placed and commended for a number of prizes, including the UK National Poetry Competition, 2024. She studied Literature at Cambridge and Creative Writing (MA) at Birkbeck, London. You can find her at www.poetry-garden.com.
“Consider the winter oranges” was originally published in the Winchester Poetry Prize 2025 winners’ anthology, The Lantern Room, October 2025.
Read Issue One