A CUT-UP MANGO
Cutting into the deep of this fruit, sweet and sour, just like nostalgia,
you reach to an ending point: meeting at the middle, a pit.
Flat. Long. And spread out. Thin. People usually slice it.
Once it’s cut, all of its secrets are exposed.
How much flesh is inside, how yellow it is. It’s an autopsy.
Can you imagine?
An autopsy of fruit every time you eat one.
Don’t you remember? Every time you go to the doctor’s
in one of those rooms, with a bed and a long sheet of paper, lying
on it. With a sink and full of posters, reading, “At least one fruit per day.”
Why would you go and think about mangos?
And maybe even have empathy for them?
Isn’t that what they teach you in those assemblies?
I remember, once, that the school counselor came inside,
with a big poster, and in Crayola markers written: “EMPATHY.”
But my guess is that nobody ever cared for mangos.
I didn’t really either, but I cared a little, I guess.
Maybe it was because all I ever wanted was
empathy
from people who judged me for the fact that I wasn’t able to speak English.
The first time I bought a mango in Costco: I presume
I picked it up, I chose it from stacks of cardboard boxes
with mangos on them.
I don’t really know if I am considered a mango lover.
Nah, I don’t really like them anymore.
Yesterday, all this started when I bought sliced mango, but
I picked three small pieces and gobbled them in
and that was it. Veins, popping out of the mango—
They make it taste terrible.
I swear. I hate mangos now.
They are either too sweet, or too sour.
They make my hands, table, mouth, cheeks, face
all sticky, it feels disgusting.
But did I ever change?
No.
Not really. At least I don’t think so.
I do the same foolish things, over and over again.
Did I change? Maybe yes.
I’m not as extroverted nor as enthusiastic
as when I was young, when every person who visited my house
would excite me, and I would greet them, and say goodbye happily.
Now? So, I guess I found the answer, sweet and sour.
Just like a mango.
—from 2023 Rattle Young Poets Anthology
__________
Why do you like to write poetry?
Stephanie Qin: “I like to write poetry as it allows me to express my feelings in a different way rather than simply speaking out. It converts my ideas into a more abstract form but at the same time shows what I’m thinking.”
