top of page
  • Writer's pictureJan Avellana

Lemons

This was the toughest week I've had in a while--but I'm still alive, I'm still here and I am resilient AF. I want to talk smack about all of it. I want to say all the things about the person I dealt with last week that are stirring in my mind and heart. But I know it's not useful, helpful or good for me to give life to those words--not saying I'm brushing the experience aside and saying it's all good--HELL TO THE NO. Oh, I'm processing all of it believe me, with safe people that I love.


So in the place of a wicked rant, a poem:


I ate a lemon today.

I squeezed it first

to soften it, rolled it on the counter

and then I cut it,

just so into wedges--

I sucked every last bit of juice,

chewed through

each pocket until they burst

in my mouth,

sweet, not sour--

and spit out the seeds over the kitchen sink,

savage like,

letting it drip from my chin

and fingertips,

letting it soak my shirt

pocket where it squirted.


And then I ate another one.


Recent Posts

See All

On that Day

One day the weeping will cease and your body, so tired from heaving sobs, will release itself and rest will finally come to your bones You will close your eyes and smile, and the air will be sweet and

Pigtails

today i brushed a girl’s headful of knotted hair her pigtails were askew did daddy do your hair this morning or did you i asked (because mom is no more) i did it she said come here i said bring your b

bottom of page