Citrus pleasure, pt. ii

Encased in sun, in the middle of meditation,
my mouth waters for lemonade.
A breakthrough, maybe?
I notice myself breathing in
A moment of presence and gratitude
I notice myself breathing out
for squeezed juice stirred with sugar
in a yellow pitcher, with a wooden spoon.
I notice myself breathing in
I’ve waited so long for this harvest and
am reminded of the power in waiting
I notice myself breathing out
for I’ve begun to notice how the sounds differ
between backyard birds, and a deeper flap
I notice myself breathing in
catches and pulls my thoughts outward.
Discipline keeps my eyes closed
I notice myself breathing out
- my thoughts, less so.

A chime marks the end of my session
and scares the mystery bird away before
I can say hello. Six pulled lemons sit in two rows.

The air smells like smoke today.
And I thought the tree trimming would
drive the birds away
but the sun is strong and
a couple more moments means
a yellow bird comes back, with a black
throat and a deep flap,
eventually the smoke dissipates,
and more lemons ripen for the drinking.

Maybe, like how fruit grows more abundantly when pruned,
the birds appreciate tidying, too.

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Sarah Durrand (they/she) lives in San Diego, California. Their work has appeared in Sad Girl Diaries, Maya's Micros, In Parentheses, Cathexis Northwest Press, and is upcoming in Drunk Monkeys. In their spare time, they enjoy reading, rollerblading, and talking about the birds that visit their bird feeder. Email them at sgdurrand@gmail.com.