The last post for National Poetry Month. I thought about posting something a little more exuberant, or peppy, but I am just exhausted! From life! So here's the last poem.
Lemons
Lemonade is the cover up story
they write over the sour moments.
They collect a basket of trouble;
they compress it, condense it,
and they sweeten it with sugar
but I swear, it still tastes like lemon.
And that bitter citrus still
burns on the way down
while the sugar no longer
knows its own flavor..
So when life drops lemons
into my open hands
I slice it up and put it in my tea.
I take a big gulp and say,
This is sour, or
This is sweet
and I won’t be bitter
because I at least
know the difference.
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