The Mango

A crimson mango
sat still in a glass bowl
on my window sill
I’m not certain if it’s ready to eat
I have no skill
judging luscious fruit
knowing if it’s ripe or not
I ate a mango long ago
when a kind man I once loved
sweetly served it to me
one Sunday afternoon
He cut the mango with elegant precision trimming its thick, gold flesh away
from the flat pit and burgundy skin
Juice ran down his thick brown hands
as he told stories about his favorite mango tree in Jamaica when he was a school boy
My first bite, a delicious surprise
richer than a peach
sweet, exotic like papaya
Anticipating the taste from that day
I pick the mango from its bowl
slicing it as best as I can
my eyes closing
daydreaming of that island place.

Janice O'Brien

Honorable Mention, The Newtowner, Winter 2013

Bring Me the Sunset

Bring me the sunset in a cup...
remember to collect fireflies in your pail
as a sapphire night becomes our blanket
under a sea of stars, entertained by the Milky Way tenderness spills from our lips on mountain tops

 

Bring me the sunset in a cup...
gather daisies along the path
tie them with a green silk bow
remind me of the moment we fell in love obsessed with everlasting and forever

 

Bring me the sunset in a cup...
carry the glass jar filled with strawberry jam
to savor as we did at Café Saint-Germain
when students created bavardages bruyants*
only my heart heard your words of endearment

 

Bring me the sunset in a cup...
deliver me a crescent moon in a velvet pouch
lighten my day, secure my night, strengthen my spirit arm me to face regret alone
while shattered promises fall from weeping clouds

*loud chatter

Janice O'Brien 2015

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