Fruit stain serenata …

There’s a market that carries a variety of South Asian produce. I had my hands sticky picking out the embedded sweet achenes within Jackfruit the other day. For the uninitiated, Jackfruit is difficult to work with but is inordinately delicious. It is a multiple fruit with fused ovaries. There were unseasonal mangoes, sapodillas, lychees too. I am always happy to see tropical fruit here on the East Coast except that they are never really matured well before picking and therefore the chemical taste. Here’s an ode to summer in a pastoral poem 🙂

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In the sanded pages of a konkani bible / the devout read the book of songs / in ripe pomegranates and jubilant olives / fruit from strange lands that don’t exist / the love stranger still / but under the swaying palms is a fragrant rush of coastal summer / and written in the syllabic flow of gritty sand / is the mooing of water buffalo / unscrolling of banana fronds / the praying of a Mantis if I could hear as well as the crickets / that drown him out / serenading the bats that nibble at ripe mangoes / too high up in the tree / turgid, juicy and they pick at the fruit like Sabri did for her Lord Rama / tasting each one so it would be princely fare / until the luscious in the elevated air fall in love with the earth / land onto my dress I spread / to catch them splatter in stains / sticky mouths imagining childhood once more//

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On a lighter note, I wonder what a mango would think of Cartesian dualism. I am what I am, I am mango therefore I am, I am ripe or raw therefore I am ? Does a mango think? Is it because I know it’s a mango therefore it is or how come I know not if it is a jackfruit ? A foray into the meditations of René Descartes soon and the absence of wine makes my head spin 🙂 Levitating in the bliss of gratitude for this beautiful palette of March dusk.

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