Ode to Orange: A First Affection

Favorite, she said
with a smile that averted

my eyes to pale ballet slippers. 
So, I searched and rifled 

with my kid hands, 
desperate in Ma’s bags 

of lace, ribbon, strings 
of fake pearls, a universe 

of yarn, treasure trove 
of thread. Favorite. 

I combed for the color 
of clementines, pinch 

of apricot, of peach 
in the soft tangles 

of a childish crush.
Favorite. For my fresh

hope to hold another 
girl’s eye, to be more than

the lanky one who grand jetéd harder 
when she was in the studio. 

My girlish gut pushed 
my leotard towards 

the mirror. Hand-tied 
marigold bow atop my ballerina bun, 

materialization of my stammering heart, 
cheeks aflame.