Lemons

Can ordinary, little, forgettable, unimpressive things become poetry? It just depends on the eyes that see the world, the way they look at it.

Here there is a poem for you about lemons. A friendly reminder to look at things, stare at them, feel their essence.

There are lemons on my table,

Yellow spheres

Against a night board

Pores on their peel

Capture reflexes

Relaunching distorted lights

Inclusive shapes

Each differs

From a perfect idea

Of what does not exist

Stains, scars, and

Sudden humps

From which

Their tree

Still evokes

His smell

A lemon composes

A gentle hiss

When you rub it

In your palms

And there, its memory remains

For your skin

Is now made of

Mediterranean islands

And white blossoms

I hope this poem will stretch out of the page, becoming part of you. If you would like to read more, I write quiet reflections once a month. You may subscribe here if you would like to receive them directly in your inbox.