Lusting after Mangoes Number 3

For Margaret

eye wake up before the sun becomes a burst of firehigh above my house up on a hill in lush goyave,guadeloupe, overlooking the caribbean seafull of curling, foam-washed waves carrying historieswhispering memories of the trans-atlantic slave trade& the devil's eye above casts off towering orange flames,ignites huge explosions of cascading tongues of light,sweeps all wavering shadows into deep secret corners,where bright finger-glows burn but cannot gobecause of the opaque darkness blooming there,despite the luminous light surrounding me here

everywhere, it must be—as miles davis once told me—all about timing, which leads me to know to arriveprecisely behind my house, in the yard, under the bloominghaloed trees full of ripe mangoes dangling seduction there,a split second before the rooster arrives leading his posseof hungry hens followed by cute little voracious chickadees,right after flinty-eyed rats have abandoned the feeding table—which is my abundant, sprawling, tropical backyard—where fresh mangoes fall onto in season, succulent,fragrant beyond belief, they remind me of alluring breastsswollen with sweetness, plump lips, soft, inviting, lusciouswhen opening to kiss, suck sugar from the tongue insideswelling in the mouth of someone you love, deeply,

it's a race against time to win the day in my backyard,soon after field rats take their fill, nature swarms the prizes—those mouthwatering, delectable griffy mangoeslying there on the moist ground—eye must get to beforetiny sharp teeth bite, pointed beaks peck, then penetrate the hardgreen skin brushed with rose & yellow blush of the mangoeslying there, coveted on feeding grounds, they are scrumptiousprizes eye must get to after rats take their healthy bites,the rooster & his brood peck holes in skins ants can stream throughen masse, wherever they find openings, then surge, advancelike a well-trained army, swarm all over the yellowstringy flesh sweet with nectar in a frenzy, then gobble upthe treasure, leave behind only dried up leather-brown husksresembling corpses on battlefields all over the earth,

so eye must be there on time, as the prince of darknesstold me, because who gets there first enjoys the fruits of their labor,the sweet golden nectar of a mango's ripe flesh, succulent,beyond belief—to gather up all those saccharine fruits,taste those wondrously lush mangoes when they fall right afterthe sun's first light explodes through yawning darkness,the sky opens up everything it sees with its can-opener laser beams,offers in my yard a splendid spread of delectable fruits—not only mangoes, but papayas, bananas, maracujas—calledpassion fruit too in new york city—for me to feast on, freshhere, every day, where most things pop on my taste buds,open them up, it seems so new when eye wake up, find thisradiant beauty surrounding me, love breathing thereso warm, softly next to me, ripe & succulently sweetas a fresh griffy mango eye am just about to eat