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  • 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.


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