Gary Soto - "Oranges"

The first time I walked With a girl, I was twelve, Cold, and weighted down With two oranges in my jacket. December. Frost cracking Beneath my steps, my breath Before me, then gone, As I walked toward Her house, the one whose Porch light burned yellow Night and day, in any weather. A dog barked at me, until She came out pulling At her gloves, face bright With rouge. I smiled, Touched her shoulder, and led Her down the street, across A used car lot and a line Of newly planted trees, Until we were breathing Before a drugstore. We Entered, the tiny bell Bringing a saleslady Down a narrow aisle of goods. I turned to the candies Tiered like bleachers, And asked what she wanted - Light in her eyes, a smile Starting at the corners Of her mouth. I fingered A nickle in my pocket, And when she lifted a chocolate That cost a dime, I didn't say anything. I took the nickle from My pocket, then an orange, And set them quietly on The counter. When I looked up, The lady's eyes met mine, And held them, knowing Very well what it was all About. Outside, A few cars hissing past, Fog hanging like old Coats between the trees. I took my girl's hand In mine for two blocks, Then released it to let Her unwrap the chocolate. I peeled my orange That was so bright against The gray of December That, from some distance, Someone might have thought I was making a fire in my hands.

I've always loved poems that deal with memories - particurally childhood, the first time is usually the sweetest for anything - they always make me nostaligic. I also, for some reason that I have yet to figure out, love poems about oranges. I think that any poem about oranges automatically becomes much better (for example: Wallace Stevens' "Sunday Morning" and Frank O'Hara's "Why I am Not a Painter"). I think oranges holds some sort of good memory for me - and whenever I think about oranges I relate it to whatever this is. I don't know what I correlate oranges with, but it must be something good. Or maybe it's not a correlation issue, but instead oranges are just a happy fruit. They are brightly colored, taste good, and their smell is intoxicating... hmmm, if I'm ever in therapy this would be an interesting subject to explore further. I wonder why I've never written a poem about oranges if I like them so much? I'll have to try that sometime...

But I've gotten off topic and must get back to the poem.What really strikes me about this poem is its subject matter (as I mentioned above). There are a few strong memories that I have of my childhood in which every detail is still as fresh as though it had happened yesterday. I usually write down these memories as poetry, but often have the problem of being too detailed and the poem is far too long and loses it's interest / point in the length. Conversely, I find that Soto does a wonderful job of keeping his poem short, while also conveying that the details are etched in his memory. Soto also did a great job of retaining the 12-year-old voice, not pretending that he understood or felt any more or less than he probably actually did. He also does not try to analyze his feelings, relying instead on memories and actions to convey the feelings, and what was going on. I love this about the poem, and after reading it thought back on a lot of my poetry and think I've figured out why his works and mine don't.

Coming back to oranges - they are my favorite part of the poem. Using the orange metaphor at the end of the poem is one of the most beautiful (and effective) uses of figurative language I've read: I peeled my orange That was so bright against The gray of December That, from some distance, Someone might have thought I was making a fire in my hands.

Oranges are rare enough in the winter that their wonder may mimic that "first time I walked / With a girl," those first wonderful encounters seem so precious. Finally, I love the metaphor in the final lines (quoted above) because they're so right. They convey that powerful feeling that your godlike when in love. Miracles.