Christina Hoag is a reporter with The Associated Press is Los Angeles where she covers all manners of angelic mayhem and mishap. Her life’s journey also includes seven years of mango seasons in Caracas, Venezuela. Her fiction, creative nonfiction, and poetry have been published in more than 25 literary reviews.
mangoes of caracas
By Christina Hoag
the cloying perfume
of rotting mangoes
littered on the ground
curdles the air
like overbeaten butter
it fills my pores
i watch my husband
my small son
pick through the guttered fruit
to find those
with skin intact
burdened with the weight
of responsibi
lity
i am like the ripe mango
drop
ping
landing so hard
it sp lit
i kick the mangoes
maggots spew forth
i crush them underfoot
cool gusts
sneeze on my clammy cleavage
the daily rain
slices the air clean
thunders the corrugated iron roofs
drowns presence of thought
i am grateful
i pick up a mango
bite it spit it chew it drool it
waiting for the sky to purple
into sundown
Oh, Christina! The images! The pictures you paint,
“…waiting for the sky to purple
into sundown.”
Wow!
Jean
A realistic but vivid look at a days work. Great piece.
What delightful imagery and control of language! The poem is evocative and sensual in the right ways. Excellent.
Very visual. I love how you used the word purple as a verb!
Love the playfulness and energy of the language here, like “sp lit” and “bite it spit it chew it drool it/waiting for the sky to purple/into sundown.”
Christina,
I sweat, taste the mangoes, float into the sunset. Thank you for the experience.
Sharon