by Katarina Merlini
Today I bought a bag of lemons—
I liked their citron iridescence and
the way the smell comes away
on my fingertips.
Today I broke a nine-minute mile.
Today I broke a honey jar
I had bought only a week before
from the talkative honey man
at the farmer’s market.
I did not like how he tried to
talk to me about
honey flavor profiles
but I did like the
black locust variety he handed me.
I bought it and dipped a finger in
to suck on my way home.
It tasted like grace. It tasted
like lemons.
Today I ran until I vomited
baked oatmeal squares
in the bathroom stall at the gym
down the street. I think the handsome boy
on the elliptical heard me
and maybe felt a little bad
or maybe didn’t even notice.
Today I lay in pigeon pose
until I felt well enough
to face the day.
I tried to pray.
I’ve forgotten the words
my father gave me.
Today I called my mom to talk about
the bank notifications I have
been getting in my email.
She says not to worry, it’s just the account
she uses to hide money from my dad.
Today I looked at my own finances
and tried to learn what
an index mutual fund is
and how I should set one up
and if maybe my dad knew
about this kind of stuff
and maybe I should give him a call too.
But I got scared and my chest tightened
because that’s a lot of thinking and
I’m not sure if I was ready for that yet.
I decided to read a book instead
