lemon bounty

when I was growing up
in a state too cold for citrus
I didn’t grasp that winter
is when those trees
will share their bounty

in California’s chill,
our Meyer tree flares yellow
the satisfying season
of tart lemon bars
and the snappy tang of zest

now it’s almost May
our lemon is picked clean—
in a stroll around the neighborhood
a local tree hangs heavy
I take note with thieving interest

instead, I’ll do what’s right
knock on their door
introduce myself
beg bounty they’ve ignored—
will they share or cling?

2023 ©Amrita Skye Blaine
I’m writing a poem a day. These are drafts—not final versions.