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The Lemon Tree
It was a big backyard,
big enough to hold
the imagination of a boy -
trees to climb,
sheds to explore,
a large lawn to swing a bat
or kick a ball
and in a quiet corner,
a sanctuary for prayer
when my grandmother,
bent over and groaning
with angina, had me
go there and ask God
for help.
There were long summers
of almonds, plump grapes,
peaches and apricots
and cold winters bursting
with big, bright oranges.
There were places where
you could heal a hurt
or hide when bruised and full
of fear. Sad how it grew
smaller with the years
like an old religion,
less important to life,
ignored until it shrank
to the size of a lemon tree
nourished only
by the beer filled bladders
of teenage boys back from
the local pub,
dying for a pee.
Copyright ©
Paul Willason
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