THE MANGO SEASON

Anita Bacha

I think of you all the time,

But I think of you more in the mango season;
I think of you when I eat ripe mangoes,
Peeled with a sharp knife,
Sliced, mixed with raw sea salt and fresh red chilies,
Like you eat ripe mangoes in Ceylon;

I think of your visit every mango season,
My thrill when you arrived at the airport,
The unleashed love in your hugs,
The gifts of delicacies and fine lingerie,
And you, my obsession,
And your panic attacks, your bouts of depression,
Your tears and your snorts;
I’d cook for you, I’d brew your tea, and I’d warm water for your bath,
I was so overwhelmed to have you in the mango season,
Every ripe mango was a feast too juicy,
Every moment, an eternity,
A promise of unbound happiness,
Counting the days deemed pointless;

When you confessed your love for my best…

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