lemon

quiet moment, golden sweet
liquid, fire crackles, growing

thoughts pause, unravel
winding out in a long
skein back into the dark

all the things that did
not happen - the fatal arc

that took away the sun
and the sweetness that
would have been

now I am left with
lemon on my tongue -
the colour of light and
bright, the colour of
the summer sun

but bitter, so bitter
I cannot swallow it down

Collected Works
Return to Collections all
next poem