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Lemon Tree

by Xuan Mai Nguyen

There was a pretty lemon tree in my childhood home,
though my mother never liked the fruits that it bore.
She said the outside was too thick and inside's too small,
just a kind of tree that always left her wanting more.

In the quiet afternoons, I had sat upon its roots,
and caught glimpses of the sky through its branches up above.
I had thought about what she said, about how the lemons were,
and wondered if she'd seen all the things about it I had loved.

Maybe I simply adored the way it stood on tall,
not afraid of standing out, of being different than the rest.
Maybe I had liked the comfort from underneath its shade,
for the calm silence it would bring every time I was a mess.

Now whenever I'd catch the breeze of a fresh lemon scent,
I would remember little me sitting with that carefree smile.
If only I could tell her that sometimes in life she may fall,
how even when it hurts then it would hurt just for a while.


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