Mango dripping from our lips,
drowning in its sweet juicy syrup,
our souls kissed.
We were one.
Skins peeled off,
diving into the restless surf,
we plunged deep…sooo deep!
I have always known you.
Steam was rising.
evaporating into the night.
I thought you knew.
But you never said a word.
Neither did I.
Just two friends
around in the dark.
I swear if it wasn’t for countless moments like this throughout history, so much literature, art and music simply wouldn’t exist. Just think of Keats and La Belle Dame Sans Merci
They say so often that youth is wasted on the young and now when I look back, I see so much self-doubt, crippling anxiety, paralysis. I especially remember being absolutely crippled on the dance floor. Sure, I wasn’t the most coordinated person but dance is about liberating your soul and expressing and sharing your spirit…not conforming to some inhibited social expectation. Thankfully, I finally found my groove and left that inhibited shell behind and found my wings. Isn’t that such a beautiful thing?!!
This poem is pure fiction. Our son has to write 4 Haikus about the seasons and we were going through talking about each season, trying to pluck out its essence. Not just in the more conventional sense with Autumn leaves, snow and budding Spring. We live on the fringes of Sydney where all those images and symbols don’t apply. Seasonal changes here are much more subtle. Our clothes changes and the contours of the beach change but nothing dramatic…aside from pretty intense thunder storms but I think they can happen any time of year.
Anyway, feasting on mangoes is such a part of my Australian Summers. Not only eating the fruit itself but even licking my fingers and savouring the sweet juice. Hmm…heaven!
I’m sure mangoes and Summer passion go hand in hand and yet inhibition strikes at its core.
No doubt, we’ve all been there.