Today is a great day to talk to you about lemon juice. And I don't mean lemonade, I mean the juice. Straight from a lemon or from a bottle that looks like a lemon. It is not refreshing in the least. It is good for a sore throat or dare but not a whole lot else, on its own.

You're the only person I know who likes lemon juice, and it feels right to me that you do. You pass it off by saying you're a sour nut, and your candy stash confirms it.

You don't sugarcoat things and that makes you an optimist. My work had a motivational speaker come in, and when someone asked me what I thought, I said I thought he was the Antichrist.

Because optimism is not about making things better. It is not about saying let's make lemonade when there is no sugar or water to be found. It is about facing the sting and crying afterwards and choosing it anyways.



Today is a good day to talk to you about vegetable juice. Here, I am referring to green mashed-up goodness, such as, Naked's "Green Machine," although there are cheaper versions of the stuff.

You feel so wholesome. You feel so good. Wow. Half an apple and a pound of spinach all in this little bottle? Drinking it feels like an act of self-love, provided you don't look at the sugar content.

I got a knock-off version once, and it just wasn't the same. My friend was coming over, and I needed refreshments. I think it was "Bolthouse Farms." The green was lighter, and it felt less thick, and had a chalky after-taste I didn't like.

We discussed the matter at length. The main thing was that note of jalapeño right at the end. Unpleasant and startling and invasive.

Despite the juice, we had a good day, my friend and I. When I was depressed, I had made a fort out of my two shitty couches and attached a TV at one end with duct tape. I was less depressed now, but I still had it up. He was depressed that day (girl problems, if I had to guess) but being in a nest with some weird juice seemed to help.

It's nice to be able to give what small, imperfect comforts you have to someone that gets it.

He moved away some time ago, but I hope he's getting plenty of interesting juices. I'll make a point of seeing him, some day, and face that wistfulness of how you change yourself entirely but everyone else stays exactly as you remember them. It'll sting, but only a little.


Nadia Wolnisty is a poet in Dallas, Texas. Her poems have appeared in Apogee, Philosophical Idiot, Spry, White Rock Zine Machine, and the Art Uprising anthology “Desolate Country,” among others. Her debut chapbook “Manual” was published in 2017 by Cringe-Worthy Poets. Her second poetry chapbook “A Zoo” is available for pre-order from Finishing Line Press. Her full-length poetry collection “Signposts” is forthcoming from Spartan Press in April 2018.