Lemon Seeds
Anna TerryIssue 4: 2.11.24
I’m seven and the pavement burns my soles
The feeling teases discomfort,
Perhaps more an irresistible heat.
Anyway, my aunt’s barefoot and we little sisters stick together.
She’s telling me about her nail polish:
Sassy, she’s saying, that’s what red is!
But when I bite down on my confessions
Crimson doesn’t feel so confident anymore.
Nor do the words that hang like glue in my mouth
I sort through the thick-twisting sticky strings
On my on-days, my good days, once I’ve stopped worrying
About the rest my m’s and l’s will bring.
Speak slowly! Don’t rush! Take your time!
They scream, I’ll scream back, but—
Are you ready to wait for me?
Will you part my lips?
I remember my hunger in the dark
The freckle on the corner of his mouth
And how that night—on the playscape under the moon
We were safe in our silence.
When I ask, she answers too bluntly:
You could fuck him if you wanted to.
But I know she’s right, and I do want to—
You turn the corner as I’m considering it,
By then, it’s far too late;
I’ve decided that I’d love you better
Quiet and crimson and slow—
It’s easier to kiss than to tell,
But I’ve been reciting sentences in the mirror
Longer than I’ve been studying my own face
I know it now—the curve of my eyelashes,
The smile lines my friends think make me look aged.
I’m learning my words, my pace—
The pauses between breaths,
Those sweet syllables slipping down my throat;
I’d like to treat myself with patience,
To feel that tenderness I’m seeking—
The kind I think you’d know
Or at least enjoy, even a little
I’ve seen glimpses in your dimples, up my spine.
I can taste the words in the back of my mouth,
The ones my family doesn’t say—
But that doesn’t matter; even mistaking familiarity for sourness,
I’d unsew my sealed lips for you.
The truth is lemon seeds on my tongue
Wrinkled skins coated in citrus
I’m waiting for the sting to slip away
So I’ll no longer remember the bitterness.
Somewhere between grief and good riddance
I’ll build the machinery to mine your indifference
To open my mouth and seek raw existence
To find my words—to set them free.