Even lemons tart as a forced smile
will leave your fingers sticky
when you squeeze them dry.
How many more acidulated drops
left, invisibly inked and slow
to leave the pen
to sight in a certain sparse heat,
not enough to burn, barely enough to warm
sour on the tongue, pale on the paper of
the one who can’t even write them out loud?
Hold me like the fire holds the flame,
lick these salt and bitter words away
take my breath and keep it warm for me
till I need it,
when tomorrow makes me pay
for all this lemonade I threw away.
Progress Note: As many of you may know, I had a rather nasty fall last week dodging a car which took a blind curve behind us while my husband and I were out walking the dog around our normally idyllically deserted neighborhood. I ended up severely straining my left knee and taking an acre (or so it feels) of skin off my hands, elbows and knees. After undergoing some tiresome procedures and a regimen of anti-inflammatories, antibiotics and mild pain killers, I haven't been in much shape to write or return visits. I am improving greatly, however, and am up and around now, no harm done, just healing slowly and a bit dazed still. I hope to be able to return to participating in all my normal online activities soon. Till then, I've put up a poem from last month to reassure everyone I'm still alive and kicking.
My sincere thanks to all who've come by here to read and commiserate, or contacted me to offer their concern.
Image: Header Photo: My lemon, by Smaku on flick'r
Footer Photo: lemons, by chotda on flick'r
Both shared under Creative Commons 2.0 Generic License