Mango

Who decided to name them after
champagne, these glowy yellow
golden hearts

syrupy with promise?
They are like moons ripening
over a dark river in summer,

when heat and ennui make
mirages of every longing.
Even after you’ve eaten

down to the pith, you want
to tip the boat farther
with your sticky fingers;

you want to step into that water,
clumsy, not knowing what to do,
carrying your big hunger.

 

In response to an entry from the Morning Porch.

Series Navigation← FractalThe life before →

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