Global Eyes

Wilmer Mills

I taste the lemon in my mayonnaise.
It interrupts my sentence, wanting me
To say, pronounce, a field of rice or maize.
Eyes shut, I see and hear the killer bee
In roadside acres grown in pepper bush.
I see a big Brazilian woman’s blender
She mixes egg and oil into mush,
Then a squeeze of lemon, enough to send her
Into ecstasy. But I’m distraught
About the lemon truck, the diesel fumes,
The ship, The supermarket.
                                                   Am I caught
Between my weather and her citrus blooms?
It’s a terra incognita.
                                      Reconcile
My winters and her terra cotta tile!