I walked into the store feeling perfectly chipper. I was stopped in my tracks by what was in front of me. I reeled out as a blubbering mess. I drove home with gushing, swollen eyes. You see, Walmart had lemons. A huge bin of that brightly colored and small sized fruit.
She had lemons in her fruit basket when we stopped by the house after we buried her only six weeks ago. Five small lemons. That number had not appeared significant then. But today, was it just a coincidence that there had been one for each of us kids? Also, it had occurred to me only yesterday, that isn’t six weeks a reasonable amount of time to begin adjusting to such a loss? I must be on my way to healing.
When life hands us lemons, we are supposed to concoct a pitcher full of what is called lemonade. When death hands us lemons, although they never told us, I guess all we can concoct is a pitcher full of tears.
Linda Imbler has four published poetry collections and one hybrid ebook of short fiction and poetry. She is a Kansas-based Pushcart Prize and Best of the Net Nominee. More information can be found at Linda's Poetry Blog.