by Martina Rimbaldo
Lemons
those ghosts who eat only lemons
are the unjustly killed.
all nationalities, creeds, skins-
they eat their lemons in fists
from the outside in.
i saw a ghost in my vestibule
with a mouth of chewed toffee.
she had a good life.
her heart now a clear bag of honey,
her hair a spundle of sugar, bones
of sweet clove rock.
the road from Cork to the mountains
of Mourne are waxy and yellow
with lemon skins. like the roads
to Nanking, Jabalia, and the graves of Kurds.
in Yemen the sky is spitting lemon pips.
the sun’s mouth destroyed with blisters.
Eugene O’Hare was born in Ireland and began writing poetry in 2020. He was shortlisted by the poet Billy Collins for the 2022 Fish Publishing Prize and shortlisted for the 2021 poetry prize at Belfast Book Festival. His debut plays are published by Bloomsbury/Methuen.
Martina Rimbaldo is a woman who lives and works in Croatia. Loves to paint abstract paintings, read religious books, watch horror as well as old movies with Audrey Hepburn, Sharon Tate, Brigitte Bardot who happens to share her birth date and (over)thinks especially about death, what some people find morbid but not her, it is a part of life too. Her goal is to be a good person. Instagram and Twitter: @MartinaRimbaldo.