I saw it quite clearly,
Though it was no more than a glimpse.
It was the rich yellow –
The yellow of sun-ripened mangoes,
The ‘opioro’ mangoes of my youth –
Its surface marred by dark spots,
Like the painting of a three year old.
The veins crawled like serpentine threads,
And its end was suspended
Tightly in the kid’s mouth –
He was drawing life.
His mother’s gaze.
The eyes of one who had seen it all.
Yet, my eyes remember,
That brief glimpse,
Under the midday sun!
contact the poet: Chikatito Jones
I am a member of the WRR editorial team.