To my Mother

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This lemon hue of mine 

is what makes my axis 

different from others, 

heiress in unexpected 

expansions, reverberation 

of imaginary fruits that want to know 

nothing about my being 

a green pome. 

In this solid body, I extract 

a juice full of bitterness, 

unsuited in its uneven scales

and the twisting of the pulp, 

which reveals the bagasse of my desire, 

the flesh residue of other tastes, 

sweet failures where I am nothing

other than a lemon. 

Video Poem published by the literary magazine The South Shore Review.