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Untitled Immigrant Fruit Poem

it’s mango season and i don’t know how to act

Poetry | Poetry Tuesday, poetry
April 11, 2023

it’s mango season and I don’t know how to act
if mango was a person we would be fucking

she gives it to me good—from green to gold to sweet from sour
I like it when she bites back
is she greener in envy?[more like anticipation]

when she wins gold it hits home snatched from the cradling branches
she can’t help but dripnectar of the gods
down down

sometimes she even blushes: never sunburnt, always sunblessed
flesh-heavy [in her metaphors] pit-hungry [in her sincerities]
heavenly heavenly heavenly

I—fruit of their labor I—labor for their fruit

50 people try to slice a mango: yeah, I’m an immigrant we come with these
score the cheeks and save the hairy pit for me
a real feminist knows how to suck at the core—like a man [better than a man]

I’m still talking about the fruit
she texted me: I can’t be allergic to mangoes
they’re the mother fruit
I replied: mangos:
my mother, my sweetness, my flesh, my home

we both laughed despite the sting of sweetness and ache in our gums
the only way to consume is to slice open

the only way to forgive is to slice away from your body

Author’s Note: “If mango was a person, we would be fucking” is taken from a tweet. “50 people try to slice a mango” is the title of a video, and the line, “yeah, I’m an immigrant. I come with these” is also taken from the video. The text messages quoted are between me and my friend Claire, who kindly gave me permission to quote her. Thanks, Claire!