KL Monahan
Knock-knock Lemonade
Listen, granddaughter.
When I was young there were no dreams.
Nighttime was stretched out on the floor
and asleep like Orange Cat. Nightmares
were written by Furies then placed
in a mother’s ear as an act of revenge
against husbands.Your nana never saw color till seven,
by then roses were old news. See, child.
This is nana on a pony laughing.Life was different before central air.
A man knocked first, arrived neatly
in layers of wool and Aqua Velva
just to examine a rug and fuss
over the lemony difference in a glass of lemonade.Oh! Misses Nana-nana, (salesmen used to exaggerate)
this lemony lemonade is the lemoniest
drink I’ve ever tasted, (lips would pucker)
it’s way lemonier than it should be. (they always say that)This is how I first learned to kiss
and one way vacuums became popular.Once upon a sunny day I wanted new shutters.
Knock-knock, lemonade. My windows were so pretty
the bridge club broke out in measles.
All the woman had green spotted cheeks and sneezed
tiny bubbles for weeks and weeks.I couldn’t help myself. I laughed.
The mailman heard me. Placed a red hat
upon my head, sat me on his horse
and snapped a picture. This was nearly
a year before your mother was born.Back then cows bottled their own milk.
Diapers had their own servants. Children
arrived in starched blouses and plaid skirts.
In many ways birth was a new way to look at things.News traveled fast on ponies or bubbles.
To preachers who had secretaries who played harps
or pulled strings or something like that. Anyway,
someone knew God who knew you and now you
are new news on your way here.Knock-knock. Listen.
Your mother answers the door.