Grandmother sits back and considers
the lemon with the palm of her hand.
Now is a heavenly time, under a tree,
in the cool dust mysteriously missing
since May.
She squeezes a waterfall of warm juice,
slippers sucking at the linoleum, pulps
it into a mug.
Rain drips from the eucalyptus trees’
dagger-shaped leaves, smelling of
secret closets.
This morning, we are hunting wool
socks and heavy blankets.
After adding honey, she settles.
(c) 2019, by Hannah Six
Image: PxHere
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