I slip through the house

tiptoeing through the hallways that loom over my sensitive ears

I enter the kitchen

where a pitcher of lemonade is sitting on the counter.

Yes.

You tiptoe around

Your feelings

Keep them in a bag

With a zipper

And zip them up

You say you're like lemonade

You can be sweet

But you can be sour

And people told you

It's 9 o'clock on a Saturday- 9:00 AM, that is, when Mom made lemonade for the annual summer party at our house. Fresh-squeezed lemonade. It is sitting in a cooler on the small table in the tiny house in our backyard. 

Grandma used to make lemonade.

The feeling bittersweet

Like lemonade

A feeling you may meet

The pressure will fade

Of letting someone go

Someone dear

For you truly know

Despite your fear

Your love is like a zipper

It’s that feeling

Of awkwardness

Of excitement

Of twenty million things on the tip of your tongue

Of so many words that will never be said.