lemon
danielle cadena deulen
they loved each other, but a lemon tree
grew between them—no 1（安慰，慰藉） in the way
it leaned, as if to whisper from her yard
into his, across the coyote（北美小狼） fence,
a promise of something greater. the fruit
was a 2（发光的，明亮的） yellow, 3（成功的）
in the branches—at night, he'd stare
at the tree's dim body, almost
indistinguishable from the darkness,
and imagine climbing into the v
of its trunk, swallowing the lemons whole,
his 4 full of light. she'd quiver（颤抖） in
her bed, dream of her arms turning to wood,
snakes like ribbon over her radiant（光点）
throat, lemons ripe in her hair. they remained
hidden from one another, but gathered
the fallen fruit, rolled them on their bedroom
floors, 5 them into halves—radial
as open compasses—ate the brassy
bitterness of their skins. isn't this how
it would taste: a sour citrus sprinkled
with sugar, salt, the bitter aftertaste（回味） of rind?
or do you place an apple in her hand,
a past sweetness in each crisp bite?
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