Tasteless Lemonade

The night was dark blue and full of stars

Stolen from the eyes of my grandmother.

I marveled at the lake’s audacity to appear beautiful.

To still lap at our half-drowned dock,

And bounce the abandoned boat in our lake,

Even the sailboats had listened to the wind that night

When I ordered it to whisk them all away.

The waves cracked and fractured on the beach,

Turning over the smoothed stones to their jagged edges.

And the heron still snapped fish in its calmness.

As I sat on a porch before a pebbled beach,

I sipped lemonade,

But the sweetness turned to ash on my tongue.

And so, I tasted nothing.