Gateway

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.

Gateway

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
spindly-legged
birds

                               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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