June 24, 2020
2:55am
What to do with two fresh lemons,
gifted by a friend who drops off
fresh produce every two weeks?
I’ll make a pitcher of lemonade!
Do I remember how?
I halve the lemons and squeeze
them by hand into
a measuring cup,
since I no longer have
the fruit squeezer I thought was
in the kitchen gadget drawer,
Then scrape the pulp
and the seeds
from the peel
with a teaspoon,
squeeze the last
remnants of juice
into the cup,
and set aside two thin slices
of lemon to dress the drink.
I pour the pulpy, seedy liquid
into the pitcher,
add sugar and just enough water
to stir the mix
one hundred times,
as mother taught me to do.
Next, I fill the pitcher
with water,
add the lemon slices,
and refrigerate.
Too much water,
I discover, as I
drink the first glass.
Lemon-flavored water is not
Lemonade.
But as it sits in the fridge
for a few days,
the lemony taste grows stronger,
as I drink a glass each night
before bed.
To stretch the last glass
(or coffee mug),
I add water,
returning the lemonade to its
lemon-flavored water state.
I drain the glass and
and eat the remaining
lemon slices which,
by now, slip easily off the rind,
as if I were devouring
barbequed ribs
off the bone.
A Note about this poem: A silly verse, written merely to give my mind a break from the world’s woes.
baltimoreblackwoman 