Harry Powers © 2005 All Rights Reserved
Still Life with Lemons
I discover lemons
drying in a blue bowl.
I cannot bring myself to call you
or go back to bed.
If I talked to you
could you answer
I have no pity.
I am yellow and dry as a lemon left
too long in the sun.
These lemons, these globes,
as an old woman’s chin,
but bright as new dahlias, sweet,
At this hour, I have nothing but small
I live in a place half west,
half south, where lemons grow,
where people pick their own friends,
and are not plucked, sliced open,
I am the lemon that refuses entry.
I am the lemon that does not need to know
the parts of a lemon.
The mind can imagine anything
I choose one lemon to hold.
It is cool, still green
where it held on to the tree.
Linda Malnack has published poems in America, the Amherst Review, the Seattle Review, and Southern Humanities Review. Currently, she volunteers as a co-editor for Switched-on Gutenberg. Linda lives and writes in Seattle.
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