After a bath
I reach for the green towel and
the smell of lemon
blossoms through the window
and I'm out riding on air
to the tops of the sycamore tree.
The scent holds me there.
It's that thick.
The smell made sweet
'Cause lemons are sour.
I will never stop wanting to be liked.
Friends cower at our front door,
paper sacks in hand,
ask if they can pick
some lemons please,
and we say of course,
of course,
we open the door,
show them across wood floors
to the big lemon bush out back.
We don't pick them all at once
like some people do.
We pick the lemons as needed.
At midnight with flashlights,
on hot April days,
sweet into summer.
Lemon pie.
Lemonade.
Lemon juice.
Lemon cake.
Lemon bars.
For six months--
Lemons.
Thomas Wentzel and Cynthia Meier's Homepage web address: http://personal.riverusers.com/~cindym email: wentzel@theriver.com email: cindym@theriver.com revised 22 November 2003