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Lemon by German Dario Piedrahita Abdala

A lemon now rests on the cap of a wall, having drifted from comfort of leaves and arms, pulled by wind of foreign, destined lands.

The lemon is ripe, perfumed skin holding golden juice, and would have stayed where it had grown.

Its body, alone on the cap of the wall. A planet close enough to feel the sun, yet, in a different universe from tree, to live out its life, then, decay and be denied return.


German Dario resides in Tempe, Arizona with his wife, two sons, three dogs, a guinea pig, many plants, and sometimes a fish. Recently published work in Remington Review, Opossum, Gargoyle Magazine, Anacua Literary Arts Journal, Gyroscope Review, and San Pedro River Review.


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