the tree grew abundant with lemons
fast to the ground they would fall -- almost flying.
so many ripe yellow friends upon the earth, their plenty pulled the breeze into a smile
and then came the tall, brown-eyed, Promethean brother
seeming to say, "are you thinking what I'm thinking?"
to the small, brown-eyed, beloved little sister.
picking up a sunny citrus he tossed it across the lawn with a wiggle that sent her laughing.
so many times you could find them laughing.
across the yard they'd throw them -- those wielding spring time lemons
catch or miss, but never lost; the meaning of being a sister.
there, with his lanky arms and groovy style he'd send them flying.
toss or wait, but never leave; the meaning of being a brother.
she'd pick one up in her own flair, knowing how grand it was to make him smile
since she'd seen him so many times without a smile.
and what a golden gift it was to hear him laughing
to play together in the sun in the same old backyard with her dearest brother.
the way that nature offers itself to you through the joy of lemons,
is a reminder to us all that the earth and all within it can send the imagination flying.
what a singular miracle it is to be a sister.
just as the bean relies on the corn, what richness the soil is for each sister
peeling these nourishing plants in harvest from dust is the origin of the smile
and happily in the morning, singing and feasting, the birds are flying.
around the world, like every new and sacred day, there is reason for weeping and for laughing
and every spring the tree will drop its lemons
and not every spring will there be your brother.
but now there is a spring with your tall, brown-eyed, Promethean brother!
now is the time to be his small, brown-eyed, beloved, sister!
so get up, get out there in the green and play catch with lemons!
make your cheek bones sore with a smile!
make your bellies ache from long hours of laughing!
send those lemon balls high into the sun, flying!
every hope they ever had for each other, are those stars you can glimpse above shooting and flying.
what a singular miracle it is to be a brother.
and there will always be that old video of us playing lemon ball, with mama in the background laughing.
wanting to make you proud, wanting to be your best friend, yet always, inescapably, your one and only sister.
how all things were made in design according to this: we share the same big-mouthed smile
and that, for a time, the backyard we grew up in fostered a tree overflowing with lemons.
now, at the scent of lemons a smile will come to the sister,
remembering them flying from the dancing arms of her brother,
holding the memory of him laughing.