Making Do In Quarantine: A Pitcher of Lemonade (My Coronavirus Diaries, Installment #18)

June 24, 2020



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

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. 

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