Ode to Lemons

Lemons are like my home.

Its citrusy scent burns my nostrils as the chemicals go down.

$2.99 a pound of pure happiness in my dad's life.

Its solar qualities remind me of my childhood summer days.

And the porous sound of my dad’s yellow vacuum is sucked through me.

I’ll clean the kitchen table as my hand sticks to the eyes.

Swallow and endure the pain of its acidic nail polished words.

The lifted gloss reflects my dull expression,

Lemons are like my Father.