Peaches. Plums. Raspberries. Loquats. Mangos.

They are extravagant yet necessary. An unexpected submergence of pleasure in the everydayness of food. They all convince me of the existence of God.


He hands me a mango
a palmful of perfection
skin a blush of flame, sun
and verdance    

                               I am
nine again, drunk on
this fruity miracle I call
fla-mango pondering
its kin to those pink

                               in Miami
the air lays warm-handed
and close against my face
water-laden and rich with
promise the night insects
sing of each to its own
and the darkness surrounding

                              when I pick up
his hand-delivered nirvana        I slice
into its honeyed orange flesh
standing across from him
this first bite a fruited blessing
                               I am home

2 thoughts on “Gateway

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