Mango
by Sarah Goughnor
- The fruit bleeds out juice
- That trickles down my fingers.
- A sweet cloying scent rises up
- Out of its ripe, golden flesh
- As I press down with the sharp,
- Glinting edge of my kitchen knife.
- The shy interior blossoms
- Exposing the tender pulp
- Beneath its sunset-hued skin
- As though I’ve sliced open the sky.
- I caress the curve of the fruit
- And carve my blade into its pit.
- I lift my fingertips to let my tongue
- Catch a slow droplet of tangy nectar
- Sliding across my palm.
