When Life Gives You Lemons
A poem for hard days
Once, the tree sagged, so heavy
with yellow orbs each shake of the branch
would release a thudding
of overripe fruit. Too many to make lemonade,
they sat rotting, turning green
and then gray. Evidence of entropy.
Life is a shifting of present
moment to present moment.
The association of lemons to hardship
is false. Or, true. But no more true
than relating lemons to joy. One puckers
at the sourness of the juice; one also puckers
to receive a kiss.
Once, I watched a friend pluck the curled
lemon peel from her martini glass
and place it on her pink tongue. Her lips
pressed into a mauve-stained smile
as she chewed. My own peel was bland
and bitter, and I could not muster
the same pleasure
I found beautiful in her.
Sometimes the future is too laden
with hopes, I cannot swallow
them fast enough. I forget in stripping the tree
the fruit is…
