was starting to rot. I cut carefully
around the edges, juices dripping down fingers
Into mouths that eagerly waited to bite
into the sweet yellow flesh. No one lives
in that house since you left. It lies abandoned,
a shadow of what had been, a house full of memories
the walls a reminder of all that we once were.
That tree still stands outside our verandah silently witnessing
all that is no more. No one tends the tree
yet every year it blesses us with mangoes
small and sweet juices dripping, slipping
between fingers,like our lives passing by
relentless, unforgiving, un-contained.