The Last Lemon

The last lemon sat on the bottom shelf of the fridge,

Next to a half-drunk bottle of Pinot Grigio.

Did you bring that over,

Or had it always been there?

It does not matter—

you did not stay.

"Have to be up early," you said.

The last lemon sat alone,

The Pinot now gone,

Replaced by a box of pizza

On the shelf above that little lemon.

I thought of calling you,

But decided to sit with the silence.

Frequency plays tricks on the brain,

makes one cling to non-realities.

The last lemon lingered still, in the fridge,and in the back of my mind—

The night I shattered my favorite wine glass,dancing with you.

You swooped in, cleaning up shards so my bare feet wouldn’t touch the ground.

But,

It does not matter—

You did not stay.

"My parents are coming by tomorrow," I explained.

The last lemon’s color faded,

Its brightness dulled, pallid and grey under the fridge light.

A glance in the mirror shows the evidence of you, faint on my neck.

Still,

you did not stay.

The reasons hardly matter.

As you age, you learn how careless one can be—

forgetting groceries,

And silly memories of another. 

The last lemon,

I tossed it in the trash.

The fridge is almost empty.

Beautiful things never seem to last.