Miguel Hernández
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Miguel Hernández 385  Miguel Hernández (1910–42) So Bitter Was That Lemon When You Threw It So bitter was that lemon when you threw it— with a hand as innocent as warm— that it retained the rigor of its form and the harsh, bitter taste by which I knew it. My blood, roused by the yellow jolt that drew it, rose to a fever from its former calm, as if it had been nipped to quick alarm when a long, rigid nipple bit into it. But when I saw your smile—how I provided amusement with your lemon to my chest, and my dark thought so far from your perceiving— inside my shirt the blood swiftly subsided, and what had been that porous golden breast became a sudden, sharp, bewildered grieving. Rhina P. Espaillat, 2011 ...