Mango Moment (19)

I eat the best mango I have ever tasted. It wasn’t much to look at when it was still whole. It never got that lovely red blush. There was a small patch of yellow on the skin. I even put it in the refrigerator because I’d bought too much fruit. I didn’t want it to spoil. When I peel it, inside it is a rich orange, the flesh wet and firm. I cut it up in big, messy chunks, the mango slipping out of my hands. I gnaw on the big white pit. (I always want to save the pits, make art with them, but I resist.) I eat it in the courtyard with a small pile of Brazil nuts. I eat with my fingers, savor each bite. The cicadas—two of them, I think—begin buzzing in the Palo Verde when I am chewing the last piece. I don’t know how long I sit there, mesmerized by the lingering taste of sweet, delicious mango and the exotic summer song of the cicadas, the bowl propped against my belly. I come to with my hand still poised over the empty bowl, my fingers slick with mango juice.

2 thoughts on “Mango Moment (19)

  1. Thanks for stopping by, Mukul. Your photography is beautiful. I especially enjoyed just now the gorgeous “mud cottages”—all that wonderful texture, color, simple elegance!—and the painted flat-bottomed boats! :)

    As far as mangoes go, yes—I have a blogging friend who lives in India, and I love seeing photos of her mango tree. It seems like the climate there is similar to parts of Mexico. Right now, I have a little mango tree growing in a pot here in the desert with my fingers crossed!

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