Mango

By Tommy Long

mANGO

By third year Kazrin Novus

I will never be above the mess of peeling a mango with my hands

Sucking on the skin before tossing it to the ground to reclaim

I will never be above licking the sticky sweet stuck on my fingers

Gnawing at the seed like a dog content with a bone

I will never be above the joy of holding the sun in my hand

Teeth glistening before the first tentative bite 

Hope is my mouth watering for the taste of my childhood 

That becomes further with every second I am me

The tremble in my hands despite my mind begging them to settle

Prepared to feel the fear of forgetting 

Being surprised to savor the victory of a distant memory

My smile is cheap and simpler than using a knife to cut neat slices

There is always a longing to remember sitting on the kitchen floor 

The promise of happiness before me

Impatient for a moment of my mother’s time

I tear apart the tough and bitter skin

Desperate to reach something soft and tender

And I am still that desperate for something kind

I will never be above the mess of peeling a mango with my hands

Because I would rather my tongue taste the residue on my fingers than graze a blade

I will never be above the unkept parts of my humanity

Not every bite is savory; not every memory is sweet

I will never be above reaching out to my childhood

Grateful for every memory that lies in the center of my favorite fruit