When life gives you oranges,
don’t compare them to lemons.
Let acid kiss your jaw
and truth sting your eyes.
Fruits are never promised
they land unbidden in your lap
outstretched hands,
hollow baskets
Taste the citrus shard
and spit the seeds in air.
When sun goes sour
and branches begin to end
Let the rind curl inward.
Not all sweet bounties
are grown to please.
Hold back, and you stay
an orchard.
But if you must give something,
offer the peel, not the pulp.
They will shave the zest for garnish,
mix it into their own recipe,
and bake their own cake.